


Twisted

by Thursday26



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), race to the edge - Fandom
Genre: Commentary, Dissociation, Explicit Rape, F/M, Graphic descriptions, Political Drama, Rape, Reader Discretion is Advised, Victim Blaming, explicit - Freeform, i cannot be more serious about how graphic this is, rape recovery eventually, rapist mentality, spitelout bashing (i guess), this is NOT okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday26/pseuds/Thursday26
Summary: Spitelout rapes Astrid and it causes a massive fallout on Berk.#TwistedThursday26EDIT 10/25: CURRENTLY ON HIATUS





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! so it’s Thursday the 26 and I decided to do a little something to see where to go next. I know there are other stories people want updated and they’re being worked on, but i also want to get these stories out to y’all. So i will be posting another story today [ Rogues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786210/chapters/49398170) and then I will see which one gets more love. Whichever one gets the most response I will be focusing on completing first! Heed the tags in both stories! they are both intense
> 
> okay some of those tags make the story seem boring, like political drama, but really it only becomes that way because of the Hiccup connection and how close he is to the political process. Also I would like to recognize that this story is in NO WAY historically accurate in the way that Viking women were treated. Viking women could divorce, could own property, and so, so much more. Sure, there was still shitty stuff but I guess I’m getting most of my influence from… recent times I guess. Again, not historically accurate at all. what happens is NOT OKAY! and if you find yourself thinking like Spitleout, STOP! Stop it immediately and stay away from others until you can understand the concept of explicit, enthusiastic, and continuous consent. And if someone is treating you like Spitelout treats people, seek out help. This is not normal and you do not deserve to be treated that way, no matter what they say. 
> 
> This first chapter is very explicit and please, please heed the tags. If it’s too much, please do not force yourself. I will be posting the next few chapters to give you an idea of where this story is going. Only the first chapter will be this explicit and you can skip it if you really want to. There is still descriptive language in other chapters, but it does not rationalize nor degrade what is happening.
> 
> PS. I won't be adding an astrid/spitelout relationship tag because there isn't a relationship there. Relationship tags to be added.
> 
> PPS. If you find the first chapter to be too much, i will be posting chapter 2 tomorrow!
> 
> PPPS. I HATE SPITELOUT SO DAMN MUCH. do not read this if you like him or think he's redeemable because i do not and my work reflects that. (and if you like him, that's cool, but you won't find a fan in me)

Spitelout hates that whelp of Stoick’s. While he thinks about that, he’s not too fond of Stoick either. Survival training. What a joke. Hiccup and Stoick had gone on and on about this exercise, citing the fact that it would be “helpful” and a “good learning experience” to learn some of the tricks of survival from some of the best elders of the village. Now, Spitelout hardly considers himself an “elder” (he’s in the prime of his life!) but he couldn’t deny the fact that he is one of the village’s best men and it would be a crime to withhold his knowledge.He never expected the Hofferson girl to volunteer to pair with him. He thought this might be a fun few days out with his son, teaching him the tricks of the trade and serving up life advice like fresh yak chops. But, no. Hofferson.

And Hiccup thought it was a great idea! He’s half-sure that he and the girl plotted this just to spite him. But, ever the bigger man, Spitelout kept his trap shut and agreed to pair up with Astrid. That was a mistake, obviously. She doesn’t listen to him! Not at all! If it were Snotlout with him, he wouldn’t be so agitated. He’s sure that she does the opposite of what he asks just to spite him. 

He glares at her. She’s trudging along beside him, a small pack on her back that has some supplies in it. There’s a matching one on his back, almost comically small on his massive frame but proportional for Astrid. The dragons dropped them off on one end of the island and have flown to the other side to wait for them.It shouldn’t take them more than a few days to complete the exercise, barring any life threatening incidents.

Spitelout hates this because, normally, he loves a good survival excursion, but only if he has the right company. Astrid is not the right company. She doesn’t listen to him, at all; she has all her own opinions about everything; and she does the opposite of what he demands! What sort of woman is Hiccup intending to marry? Does he just let her run wild out there on their little island? It would take a lot of effort to turn her into a proper wife and Hiccup is nowhere near man enough to make that happen. He would bend to her will instantly (honestly, he probably already does). Spitelout grumbles under his breath. What a joke. 

“Spitelout!” Astrid calls, snapping his attention to her. She’s further away than he expected, wandering off like an insolent child. She’s waving at him to catch up, looking impatient. What’s she getting uppity about now?  _ She’s _ the one who’s supposed to be learning from  _ him! _ And, therefore, should be following him around! Not the other way around! “Hurry up! I don’t want to leave you behind!” she says, laughing, impudent smile on her face.

Spitelout grits his teeth. He’s tempted to stay where he is, but  _ he’s  _ not a child; he walks towards her, keeping his own pace. There’s a reason he doesn’t speed through like she is: it’s called saving one’s energy! And there’s no way he’s going to listen to a woman, of any creature. “You’re supposed to be learning from me, lass,” Spitelout growls when he’s close enough that he doesn’t have to yell. He has more dignity than her. “Not running off and expecting me to chase you like a child. Stay by my side so you can learn.”

She rolls her eyes, stupid smile still on her face. _ Rolls her eyes!  _ Spitelout inhales sharply, not impressed. Such disrespect. “Of course, Spitelout, I shouldn’t wander off. It’s not like I'm the best survivalist next to Heather,” she says sarcastically, still. Fucking.  _ Smiling.  _

Spitelout glares at her. She’s vain, prideful, a shrill whelp. And Heather!... ugh. That’s a different issue; the Berserker is too violent. But, she  _ is _ a Berserker, so she is not his problem and it isn’t his place. Astrid, though, Astrid  _ is  _ his problem. What would men from other villages say to see such a disrespectful woman in their midst? She doesn’t understand her place at all. She should be  _ grateful _ that he’s spending days out here with her, trying to teach her skills (which Spitelout personally believes that she shouldn’t even need, but he’s being the better man and listening to his chief and, grudgingly, his future chief) that he is pretty sure she doesn’t even possess. Her talk of being a “survivalist” is part of that childish imagination that women can never seem to outgrow. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Hofferson,” he snarls, pointing a warning finger at her. She rolls her eyes again. Spitelout clenches his jaw hard enough that his teeth start to hurt. What the Hel is Hiccup thinking? No, scratch that. Hiccup  _ isn’t  _ thinking; he’s just a dumb boy. What is  _ Stoick _ thinking? Allowing this disrespectful, willful woman to be the next chief’s wife! She has no awareness of her position and she is only going to be trouble. He doesn’t, no,  _ shouldn’t _ have to put up with her attitude.

They start walking again; because  _ Spitelout _ started moving, not because Astrid did. As it should be. The only sound between them is their boots hitting the ground. Spitelout doesn’t want to look at her anymore. Why did he ever agree to do this? His time is valuable! As valuable as the chief’s! He could be doing a hundred other things that would be a better way to spend his time, but he’s stuck on this Thor-forsaken island with this insolent brat. She even has the gall to keep step beside him.

But it does stop him when she kneels next to the trail and looks up at him with wide eyes. They’re kind and friendly, not what he would expect from her at all. He’s immediately suspicious. “Are these safe to eat?” she asks, pulling up some bright red berries that everyone knows will make you sick. Even babes know that you shouldn’t eat those berries. There’s a part inside him that likes the sight of her below him, looking up with wide eyes.  _ Where she should be _ a voice inside him whispers, but he won’t fall for this act. Seeing this manipulative side of her suddenly makes Hiccup choosing her make sense. A lesser man would be subdued and tricked by those big, blue eyes. Spitelout likes the sight, but he knows better than to trust in it. 

He glares at her. “I'm sure a  _ survivalist  _ like yourself can figure it out,” he spits, stalking away. What did she think she was going to accomplish? Astrid obviously knows the tricks of her sex, but she’s too young to utilize them properly. Too bad she doesn’t have someone there to prevent her from developing these poor habits. A proper hand to guide her, not a soft one like Hiccup has.

Her hand catches his elbow, and it’s not even soft like a woman’s hand should be. It’s calloused and rough, like a man’s, roughened from fighting and Thor knows what else. Spitelout spins around, yanking his arm from her hold. He fixes her with another glare and has to bite his tongue. It’s hard to keep every rude thing he wants to call her inside. He’s not dumb enough to insult Hiccup’s betrothed. Out loud, at least. And Astrid is still a woman. Any talk like that is not proper for her to hear, no matter if she only can be called a woman because of her genitals. “Listen, Spitelout,” she growls, glaring at him. He has to try extra hard not to get upset about that. Is she trying to order him around? “I'm sorry.” His anger pauses. An apology, without being prompted? Maybe there’s something salvageable inside her still. “I know that you didn’t have to do this, but I'm trying to make this as painless as possible. We’re going to be stuck together for a few days, and I don’t want you pouting the whole time.”

Maybe there isn’t anything salvageable in this wretch after all. “That’s a shit apology, lass,” he spits. He wants to say a bunch of other things, but he keeps them down. “You do have a point, I didn’t have to do this. So, you should be grateful that I'm doing this at all.” Her face twists, like she wants to say something un-ladylike, but she keeps it from coming out. Good. “Listen, I’ll make you a deal, I’ll stop this ‘pouting’ you’re accusing me of, and you show me the respect I deserve. Deal?” There’s no use trying to convince her that he’s not pouting. The bitch will only see what she wants to see. It’ll be less painful to strike a deal with her now and move on. For all her bad qualities, he knows that she will keep her word. 

She huffs and holds out her hand. “Fine. Deal.” Spitelout shakes her hand. “Sorry, sir.” 

Something warms inside his chest at her apology. It’s grudging, but sincere. “That’s better.”

She just manages to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Spitelout sees the motion, but he also sees her stop herself, so he decides not to call her out on it. It’s a small step, but a step towards becoming a proper woman; she’s obedient, listening to a man, a better man. He still had to negotiate, but that’s usually how it starts. Women always negotiate in the beginning because they don’t know any better yet, succumbing to the poorer parts of their nature before someone is generous enough to guide them. Thankfully, Spitelout is willing to teach her. And he’s willing to teach her to be a proper woman on top of the unnecessary skills that Stoick and Hiccup are deluded into believing she needs. He really is very generous.

They walk on, talking only when necessary. Spitelout has to nip her chattiness in the bud. Really, she could attract predators with that shrill voice. He doesn’t tell her in so many words, but he does teach her when it’s proper to speak (and that’s usually “when spoken to” but he’ll make some exceptions while she’s still learning). It doesn’t take long for them to be travelling along properly. She’ll ask short, quiet questions about some things that relate to survival skills, and Spitelout will answer them to the best of his ability. After all, you should reward good work. And, soon, he’s rewarded because she starts to naturally call him ‘sir’ instead of by his given name. Good. 

And then she starts to walk behind him instead of beside him.

These are small victories, but Spitelout beams. She’s picking up on what’s proper faster than he thought she would. Maybe she just needed to be alone with a real man to make her instinct shine. 

He’s ambling along, patting himself on the back for helping Astrid start to blossom, when the wind starts to pick up. It’s not a soft breeze, or a small gust, but a ripping, howling wind that is a premonition for a tough storm. He looks to the sky and  _ shit _ . Those are some dark clouds, and they’re moving fast. Did Astrid not see them? Couldn’t she have warned him? He’s taken point, so it’s her job to watch for other things! 

He grumbles in annoyance. Maybe she’s not learning as fast as he thought. He turns around to face her, and the wind whips his hair around his face and into his mouth when he opens it. “Okay! That looks like a bad storm,” he says pointing to the sky. She gives him a look that he doesn’t appreciate, but they have more pressing matters to attend to before he can correct that. “You go grab some firewood before everything starts to get wet and I’ll find a place where we can wait out the storm,” he tells her, already scanning for a place to hide. 

“Shouldn’t we find shelter before we gather wood?” she asks, voice rising so she can be heard over the wind. 

He glares at her and she’s squinting into the wind, trying to find a place to hide! Is she questioning his authority?! “It’s my job to find shelter! You gather the wood!” he yells at her, frowning. Why can’t she just do what she’s told? 

“Over there!” she shouts, pointing over Spitelout’s shoulder and ignoring him completely. He turns. “That looks like a mountain!” she continues. “Maybe there’s some caves we can hide in!” 

Spitelout wants to yell at her; she should be doing what she’s told, not doing Spitelout’s job. But the rain is starting to come down and they need to find some shelter right now. That mountain is as good an idea as any and they don’t have a lot of time. 

He grabs her arm and drags her behind him, ignoring her protests. He can’t let go of her arm. Who knows what she’ll do if he lets go. Maybe she’ll run off  _ just _ because he told her not to! He can’t risk losing her. He growls again. What has he agreed to? He was supposed to be teaching someone how to survive in the wild, not babysit. 

Thank Thor the mountain isn't too far away. The storm comes in too fast, soaking them before they reach the base of the mountain. His grip tightens on her arm; if she had just listened and done her job, they would already be there. She yells at him about his grip, but he doesn’t care. She should just stay quiet. 

At the base of the mountain, he scans for any opening, squinting through the pouring rain. He spots an opening right away and drags Astrid towards it. She’s trying to pry his grip from her arm. She won’t be able to; he’s much stronger than she is. It’s almost cute that she’s trying. And trying so hard!

He drags her into the cave, ducking his head slightly. There isn’t a lot of room for them. It’s high enough that Spitelout wouldn’t have to duck if he took off his helmet (which he won’t) and they have a little bit of elbow room, but they can’t stretch out their arms without touching a wall. The cave is deep, though, so Spitelout assumes that there’ll be at least a small area further in that’ll be big enough for them to sit down. And they need to go further in anyway; the wind is pushing the rain sideways and a fair distance into the mouth of the cave. 

Spitelout continues to drag Astrid behind him, pushing her shrill voice to the back of his mind, despite it echoing off the walls. It’s her fault that they got soaked. If she had only listened to him. Seems like her training is two steps forward and one step back. 

And Spitelout’s assumption of the cave proves to be right! There’s a small area further in where they can sit out the storm. They can even see the mouth of the cave still. He throws Astrid to the ground, ignoring her shout of surprise. “Don’t move,” he orders firmly before she can complain or do something as equally annoying. 

“You hurt me! What the Hel!” she yells at the top of her lungs. He rolls his eyes. So much for cutting off that complaining. She’s holding onto her arm and glaring up at him. Spitelout likes seeing her below him, even if she’s giving him that unattractive look. 

“I didn’t grab you that hard. And if you had listened, I wouldn’t have had to hold onto you so tightly!” he yells back, his own temper getting the better of him. She jerks back in surprise and he takes a deep breath. He can’t rise to the bait like that. He’s better than her. “Now stay here, I'm going to get some firewood because you couldn’t listen.”

This time, he manages to leave before she can complain again. Outside the cave, it’s getting harder to see: those clouds are pretty dark. He shakes his head. They’ll—he’ll be fine. There’s no need to worry. He’s pelted with cold rain and soaked through instantly. Again. He grumbles and sets off to finish his task. He doesn’t go too far from the mouth of the cave: he can always see it. Pieces of wood are picked up and set down as Spitelout tries to find the driest pieces, but everything is drenched. 

He doesn’t fumble around for too long, collecting an armful of wet wood and heading back into the cave. He’s cursing under his breath as he does so. His shoes squelch when he enters the cave and there are raindrops falling into his eyes from his hair and helmet. And the cave seems darker than it did a few minutes ago: he can hardly see where he’s going. In fact, he almost trips over Astrid, who is still on the ground and very much in the way. It’s only through Spitelout’s superior training and instincts that he manages to stay on his feet and keep his load in his arms. “Why didn’t you move?!” he yells at her once he’s got his feet under him again.

“You told me not to!” she yells back, all defiance and spite. 

He’s tempted to hit her, but he restrains himself.  _ Not his place _ , he has to remind himself. Instead, he drops the wood on top of her, enjoying the annoyed squawk it pulls from her. “Since you’re such a survivalist, you can start the fire,” he tells her, smug. He turns and finds a spot in the small open area to sit down. The space isn’t large, but it should be big enough to have a fire and they can both sit down. 

“The wood’s too wet to start a fire,” she complains, stacking the wood into a haphazard pile beside her. 

He rolls his eyes. “Figure it out, Hofferson. I thought you were one of the best.”

He can’t see, but he’s pretty sure she’s glaring at him. Spitelout can’t wipe the smile off his face. The wood  _ is _ too wet to start a fire with. She won’t be able to figure it out, and by the time she gives up, the wood should be dried out enough that Spitelout can do it. He can’t wait to put her in her place. And it’s also quiet; the only noise is the sound of the wind outside. That’s nice. 

Then she exhales, like she’s trying to keep her patience, and Spitelout rolls his eyes again. Uppity harpy. She gets to her knees and shrugs out of her pack. Inside should be some flint. There’s some inside Spitelout’s pack as well, which he shrugs off and tosses into a corner. Astrid rummages in her pack for a bit, pulling out a dark block. Spitelout frowns; he can hardly see what she’s doing. It must be getting darker in here. 

She sets the block beside her and picks up two pieces of wood and rubs them together for a bit. Spitelout chuckles. That won’t work. He’s not going to tell her that though. He’s going to wait for her to ask for his help. No, beg for his help. Because he’s better than her. At this. Astrid is just a delusional girl playing at being a man. 

She stops rubbing the wood together and feels over it, humming in satisfaction and stacking it into a small pile. She picks up the flint again and feels around for a rock. Spitelout frowns. What’s she doing? She must have found a rock, because she starts striking it against the flint. Sparks come off it, lighting up her face and hands sporadically. Her brow is pinched, and she looks… beautiful. 

Spitelout is shocked to have that thought cross his mind; he’s never truly believed Snotlout’s obsession with her was anything more than childish rebellion to pine after a girl from a family his father hates. That isn’t the case though. When she isn’t talking, she looks lovely, like she could be a good wife. Maybe that’s all Hiccup can see in her, because her personality isn’t very wife-y. 

Astrid huffs in frustration after a few minutes of sparks dancing off the wood and nothing catching fire. She picks up another two pieces, which both look smaller than the ones she rubbed together earlier. These two, she rubs together faster. Spitelout can see some of the bark splintering off in the poor lighting. She continues to do that until she has a nice little pile. Spitelout’s eye twitches. Did she just make kindling? No. No way. It’ll be too wet anyway. Won’t work. 

She collects the bits and piles them with the other pieces of wood. The rock is struck against the flint again a couple more times, but this time a spark catches something and burns. She leans down and blows on the ember gently, coaxing the flame to catch. Soon, the pieces of wood are on fire and the cave is filled with the crackling of wet wood. She looks over to him, smiling. Smug.

“You think you’re better than me?” Spitelout asks, voice low. He’s aching to put her in her place, to treat her like a woman should be treated. The cave starts to warm and Spitelout does not find it soothing. It’s only a reminder of him being bested by a girl. And a Hofferson girl, no less! He would have been able to figure out a fire! Admittedly, maybe not as quickly as Astrid did… but he’d never tell her that. But her face… she looks like she already knows. And that she’s happy about that. 

She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can utter a sound, she flinches. “Ow!” she says, rubbing her arm and glaring at the fire. The wet wood is spitting as the fire forces it to dry. 

She tries to back away from the flames, but she backs into the wall and she’s too close still. Spitelout laughs at her. “Didn’t think that one through, did ya, lass?” he asks, gleeful. He stretches out on his half of the cave, sighing as he does so. “I'm perfectly comfortable over here.” She glares at him and he takes another moment to enjoy her cowering from the fire. Then he offers, “You may join me over here.” He spreads his hands out, indicating the space next to him. 

Her frown deepens and she opens her mouth, but jumps when another hot piece of wood lands on her. She brushes it off with quick, angry strokes, and sits heavily beside Spitelout. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s glaring. Spitelout stares at her, really looking at her for, what feels like, the first time. 

Huh. Even when she’s glaring like this, she’s kind of beautiful. Only when she’s quiet, though. He pictures her with a soft, demure smile on her face, or even the neutral face of a proper wife, instead of the disgusting glare currently on her face, and he has a moment of sharp jealousy. Why does Hiccup get to have her? He won’t be able to treat her like he should, to get her to that perfect face. Without a firm hand, she’ll continue to turn into an awful woman, one that is too wilful and opinionated and a true nightmare for men. He shudders to think how her children would be raised if her behavior isn’t corrected. Spitelout has a sudden urge to be the one who trains her properly. Who’d have thought that he’d be jealous of  _ Hiccup _ , of all people?

He looks around the cave for a moment, collecting his thoughts. With the light from the fire, Spitelout can see how small the space truly is. If the storm continues through the night, they’ll have to cuddle close to be able to lie down without one of them accidentally going into the fire. Huh. Astrid was the one who pointed out this mountain. Sure, he found the cave, but she hasn’t complained about its small size, like most people would at this point. And it’s odd that she’s the one on this training exercise with him. Hiccup wouldn’t normally assign them together… unless Astrid asked for it. Sure, she volunteered, by why would HIccup agree? Did she… beg to be assigned with him?

He looks at her again. She’s curled into a ball, knees pulled to her chest, and she’s shivering. That’s odd; the inside of the cave is warming up. She shouldn’t be cold anymore. Spitelout can’t look away from her in this moment. The way the light from the fire dances across her face is… beautiful. She’s still glaring at the fire, but she’s sitting closer to him than she needs to. There’s still space on the other side of her, enough for her to have more space. She’s leaning away from him, but she wants to be closer. It might not be being said out loud, but Spitelout can read between the lines. In this moment, he’s reminded of when he first started courting his wife. She was just as beautiful back then, a little wilful, and a lot of fun to train. 

“What are you staring at?” Astrid snaps at him, glare turning to him and getting deeper and she leans further from him. But just leaning, not actually moving. There’s still so much space on her other side Right, Astrid isn’t like his wife. She’s not just a  _ little _ wilful, but a lot wilful. Following that logic, it stands to reason that she’d be more fun than Asa was… 

He smiles at her and leans closer to her. Her eyes widen, and she leans away further, but she doesn’t  _ move _ . He can read her body language; he can tell that she’s playing a game, telling him with her body that he needs to make a move. “You’re looking a little cold, lass. Thought I could help you warm up,” he suggests, knowing that he has to play the game. Subtlety first, always try to be subtle. They always want excuses that they tried to resist.

He tries to put his hand on her shoulder, but she flinches from the touch. “Don’t touch me,” she says, shifting away from him. Oh. He  _ really  _ has to play the game, huh? This is  _ definitely  _ going to be more fun than Asa. Asa couldn’t play coy for long, but someone as stubborn as Astrid can hold out longer.

He reaches around her and wraps his arm around her opposite shoulder, pulling her into his side. Oh, she’s so cold to the touch, frigid against the underside of his arm. Silly women, always playing games instead of just taking what they want. Although he can’t deny that there’s some fun in the chase.

She presses her palms into his chest and tries to push him away. “What are you doing?” she asks, glaring at him. “Stop touching me.”

“Don’t be so stingy. I'm offering to help! You’re cold, ain’t ya?” He offers her another pleasant smile and slides his other hand onto her stomach, gently, playfully. They like to be petted.

She inhales sharply and pushes harder on his chest, stomach flexing under his hand. He’s not going to stop, though, not when she’s gone to all this trouble to seduce him. From the very start, she’s been wanting this: volunteering to be with him, quietly begging him to properly train her by clumsily using her wiles to trick him, suggesting a cave (which are always too small for two people to hide in), and now invading his space, putting up her token protest. Or maybe she’s truly fearful, now knowing that a real man is here to help her properly. They’re all scared at the start. 

His fingers dip under the hem of her shirt and he brushes his fingertips over her stomach. There are goosebumps on her skin. Poor thing, freezing cold. “What are you doing?” she asks quickly, her breathing picking up. 

“Your clothes are wet,” Spitelout explains, “you should take them off before you get a chill.” He’s still playing the game for her, to ease some of that fear. She needs the excuses, she needs to rationalize her attraction to him.

“What?! No!” she yells, putting up more of a fight now. She’s trying to get enough space between them to get her feet under her, but Spitelout won’t let that happen. No. This is part of the game. He knows that if he stops, she’ll be even more miserable to deal with. And that won’t help either of them.

There’s a swell of excitement in his gut when he realizes he has to put real effort into keeping her in place. Wow. He hasn’t felt a rush like this for a long time. Who could have guessed that a  _ Hofferson _ would make him feel this rush again? “You know that you’ll warm up faster if you’re not in your wet clothes,” he grunts, just missing pleasant. Whoops. But he’s really having to wrestle her now. She’s got a bit of fight in her, just like Spitelout expected. But is she going to make him fight the whole time? He’s not sure if he likes that or not. The one thing he knows for sure is that he can’t give up; he has to set a proper boundary so she can feel safe. His face breaks into another smile. This is going to be a lot of fun. And his victory will be all the sweeter at the end. “And you can curl up next to me while your clothes dry,” he adds, grabbing onto her more firmly, his dry hands sometimes catching on her skin, leaving marks in their wake. 

“No! Spitelout! What are you doing?!” she shrieks, trying to twist away. He manages to catch her arms and pin her under him, sitting on her thighs and looking down at her. She screams and thrashes while Spitelout wrestles one of her hands under his knee then reaches down with a free hand to yank her shirt up. “Stop!” He can only get it high enough to expose her stomach with the way she’s lying on her back. That doesn’t matter too much. He doesn’t need her shirt off to get to the really fun part, to get to the part that will help her the most… to get to the part she’s worked so hard to make happen today. 

“Don’t fight so hard, lass,” Spitelout growls. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” She doesn’t listen to him, obviously. Poor girl, falling back on her bad habits. He lets go of her hand, using both of his to wrestle with her clothes. He should have known better, should have expected it! 

Astrid punches him in the jaw and it’s enough to shock him. It doesn’t hurt, but it does stun him for a moment. She’s a good warrior, admittedly, but Spitelout is definitely better. Then, when the shock wears off, he’s  _ angry _ . That’s not part of the game. She really tried to hurt him! After he’s doing this  _ for her _ . She should be more grateful.

He’s stunned long enough that Astrid is able to flip to her stomach and get to her knees. She’s really trying to escape! Spitelout smiles, feral. Yes. This is the kind of challenge that has been missing from his life. 

He catches the hem of her skirt before she can get too far away, and pulls her back as hard as he can. She falls to her hands and screams, “No!” as she tries to claw away. It takes a bit of maneuvering and some grappling, but Astrid gets pinned underneath him again, on her back, with Spitelout straddling her hips. “Spitelout, don’t!” she cries, starting to cry. Big, fat crocodile tears falling down her cheeks. He likes that, actually. He likes that a lot. The tears make her eyes shine. How can he make her cry more? Her arms are pinned next to her head, and with how his hips are positioned, his groin is pressing into her lower stomach. She can probably feel how hard he is for her. And she writhes against him, kicking her legs and trying to pull her arms out. 

Gods, he likes seeing her underneath him like this. Where’s that pride from earlier? Obviously that pride is all an act. This is her natural state. Or close to her natural state. He leans down, putting his weight on her wrists to keep his balance. “Don’t, Spitelout,” she whimpers when he’s a breath away from her face. He kisses her cheek softly, loving the taste of her tears on his lips. In fact, he groans at the taste and licks her cheek, wanting as much of that flavor as he can get. She flinches away from him, hard. “STORMFLY!” she screams as loud as she can, back arching from the effort she put into that. It presses her body into his, but Thor, does she have a set of lungs on her. 

Spitelout grimaces. “STOP YELLING!” he shouts at her, inches from her face, just to see how she likes it. 

She shrinks away from his raised voice. Yet… “ _ STORMFLY! _ ” she screams again, her voice cracking at the end. Spitelout must take a deep breath to calm himself. Will she ever listen to him?! Well… she has been reaching out to him for proper teaching today. She’ll learn, he’ll make sure of it, on his honor as a man. For now, he leans down and presses their lips together, preventing her from shouting some more. She screams against his mouth, head moving like she’s trying to make him stop.

Kissing isn’t something Spitelout particularly likes, but he can’t risk trying to hold her down with one arm. He needs to calm her down, and women always like kissing. It’s soft, friendly. Astrid needs to be more compliant before he can really get into doing what she’s begged him to do. 

_ She should relax soon _ , he tells himself as he moves his lips against her. But she doesn’t calm down! She’s fighting even harder and making all sorts of unhappy noises! What more does he have to do?! He’s all for putting in some hard work, but this is getting ridiculous. All the focus has been on  _ her! _ Sure, it’s her lesson, but she has to learn that everything isn’t about  _ her. _

He pulls her arms down to her sides and pins them under his knees. She screams, breaking from their kiss, throwing her head back. Oh well, it seems like she’s just going to be loud the whole time. At least her arms are dealt with: he can finally move on. He wipes at his lips with the back of his hand and smacks them, sitting back and looking at her. Kissing is so boring. 

“STORMFLY! HELP!’ she screams again, tears falling down her face as she arches back to scream as loud as she can. The movement makes her chest look very nice. He sighs and covers her mouth with his hand, muffling her noises. Sure, she may be loud all the way out here, with just them around (like she planned), but Spitelout has his hearing to worry about. And he still has a free hand!

He slips his hand under the hem of her shirt and over her stomach. It’s tight, strong. Like Asa’s use to be. He moans; he hasn’t felt a body like this in years! Since before Snotlout was born, he’s pretty sure. 

His hand continues its trek upwards until he’s cupping one of Astrid’s breasts. She cries out behind his hand, flinching at the contact and sobbing. It’s soft and supple in Spitelout’s palm, if a little small. It barely fills his palm, but maybe that’s perfect. Not too much; just enough. He squeezes her breast, rearranging his hold so her nipple is between his index and middle finger. He kneads at the flesh and uses his index finger to play with her nipple, teasing it to hardness. He smiles when he can see it peaking through her shirt. She’s starting to feel it too. 

There’s a loud screech that distracts Spitelout from the lovely sight of Astrid’s breast. He looks up and sees Stormfly pacing at the entrance of the cave. It’s still raining outside. It doesn’t make any sense for that dragon to be out in the storm. She’s flapping her wings in agitation; she can’t fit into the cave. He can hear his own dragon roaring somewhere behind Stormfly. He chuckles in amusement. Dragons are so stupid. They don’t understand humans. There’s no reason for them to be getting so worked up. 

He looks down again. Astrid has her neck twisted so she’s looking at the entrance of the cave, crying behind his hand. That won’t do. He squeezes her breast again, and she’s looking back at him. Better. Her eyes are so wet with tears, the blue of them shimmering like water. “What’d you call your dragon for? You’re getting her worked up over nothing,” Spitelout informs her calmly, disappointment in his tone. People have always assumed that Astrid is above irrational bouts of emotion. But it turns out she’s prone to fits like any other woman. 

Stormfly screeches again, but Spitelout can ignore her. No way that dragon tries something when he’s so close to her precious rider. He removes his hand from Astrid’s mouth and tries to lift her shirt without letting go of her breast in his other hand. “Stop, Spitelout. Please,” she whimpers, still struggling against him. She’s pulling on her wrists and kicking her legs still, but not as hard as earlier. 

Spitelout smiles. She’s becoming more compliant. Good. That means he’s giving her what she’s been asking for. He manages to get a good grip on her shirt and pulls it up to her chin, exposing her chest. She sits up, muscles flexing in her stomach, trying to curl over herself, still trying to protect her modesty. Foolishly, he might add, but understandably. Some more of that plausible deniability. 

Spitelout finds that mildly amusing and pushes her back down without much effort. “Don’t. Let me look at you,” he orders, putting some extra weight on her shoulder to make sure she stays in place. She does have a stunning body, for someone with her personality. His one hand finally releases her breast, so he can run it over as much of her as he can reach. His fingertips brush over her soft skin, tickling her. He loves watches her muscles quivering under his touch and the goosebumps that rise in the wake of his touch. And, the longer her breasts are exposed, the harder her nipples get, making them more attractive to look at. 

“You have such soft skin,” he whispers to her, almost reverent. “Who knew?” It is odd. With such tough hands, one would think that she wouldn’t take as much care with the rest of her body, but she must have oils or poultices. Spitelout only knows of them because Asa is sure to use them, because he likes it when she’s soft. 

Astrid sobs and squirms again. This time, Spitelout uses both hands to feel over her chest. He cups both her breasts at the same time and allows himself a moment to enjoy the weight of them in his hands. Then he gets an idea. “See this?” he asks, making sure to look right into Astrid’s eyes as he gets both her nipples between his fingers. He pinches and twists. Her back arches and she makes a wonderful noise. He pulls at them, keeping her back arched as he speaks. “You feel that? That means that you like this. You like what we’re doing. I'm not your betrothed and you’re exposing yourself to me.” He releases her nipples and she collapses onto the ground, panting. He cups the soft flesh on the underside of her breasts. “What would Hiccup say?”

More tears fall down her face. “Stop, Spitelout. I don’t want this,” she sobs, unable to look him in the eye. Spitelout laughs at her. What a liar! Can’t even look him in the face! She’s almost as bad as Hiccup when it comes to lying. False modesty is adorable when she’s exposed to him.

He leans down and mouths over the tops of her breasts, sucking the soft skin into his mouth. Oh, she tastes good. He licks over the skin, laving her right breast until he gets to her nipple. His tongue flicks over it until it peaks, and he sucks on it, moaning, just for her. She sobs again. Good. He’s doing good. 

He sucks on her nipple for a few more moments. Astrid’s breasts are nice, but she’s the only one who’s feeling good right now. It’s his turn. 

Spitelout releases her breast from his mouth and tries to shimmy down her body, so he can somehow get her bottoms off. He tries to keep her arms pinned, but it doesn’t work. One of his knees slips off her wrist and she slips away again. He’s really starting to get upset with her. This part of the game he’s already won. He doesn’t want to do it over and over again. 

This time, he pins her on her stomach. She screams and claws at the ground, sometimes blindly throwing punches behind her. They don’t hurt, so he can ignore them. He manages to pin her with her arms by her head again, with him seated on her upper thighs. In this position, he can press his cock into her backside, spiked skirt aside. He moans at the feeling and allows himself a few dry humps against her. Gods, this would feel so much better if she was naked. 

She’s screaming again, and it’s making the Nadder at the cave entrance scream too. These women are going to give him a headache soon. He presses his palm into the center of her back, between her shoulder blades, and uses his other hand to start pulling down her skirt. “NO! Stop! Spitelout, stop!” she screams, kicking. Spitelout sighs. He may just have to risk a foot to the head to get her properly undressed. He gets off her thighs, so he can pull the clothes off, mostly unhindered. 

Although she doesn’t make it easy, kicking and screaming as he pulls at the fabric, feet missing his head by mere inches at some points. He manages to free one of her legs, and that will have to do. Spitelout climbs onto her thighs again, using his weight to pin her down, leaving her leggings and skirt on one of ther legs.

She screams and kicks some more, the muscles along her back twisting and flexing. He runs his hands down her back, reverent. He’s always loved backs. Asa has a nice one, but Astrid can give her a run for her money. “You’re beautiful,” he tells her, staring at the expanse of skin and muscle. He loves the dip of her spine, muscles on each side. He traces a finger down the middle until he reaches her lower back, admiring it. She sobs, continuing to thrash. He leans down, catching her braid in one hand so she doesn’t slam her head into his face. 

She cries out when he pulls her head back, exposing her neck. “Don’t, Spitelout. Please stop,” she whimpers while she’s reaching back and grabbing onto his arms. Her nails are digging into his skin, leaving long, red lines. She’s really giving him mixed messages: kicking at him like she wants him to leave her alone, but also clawing at him like she wants him to stay. Her words would give a lesser man pause, but Spitelout knows you need to listen to a woman’s body, not her mouth. Good thing he knows what she wants. Good thing he knows what she’s worked hard to get.

He kisses the side of her neck, soft, and enjoys the sound she makes. She makes a  _ very _ nice sound when he rubs his stubbled cheek over the pale skin of her neck. It turns red within seconds and she flinches from it. He laves his tongue over the irritated skin. Women always claim they hate the burn of stubble, but Spitelout knows that they prefer men with something on their faces. It’s just how women work. 

“Stop, Spitelout,” she whines, “stop…” Stormfly screeches again and Spitelout rolls his eyes. Stupid dragon. Still leaning over her, pressing his chest into her back, he runs his free hand down her body, feeling every curve. He moans. That feels pretty nice. 

He settles his groin down on her backside with more weight, pushing his cock against her. She sobs, her own hand covering his, like she’s trying to stop him. She won’t be able to. He’s stronger than her. He rolls them a bit, so his hand can fit under her body. There’s a reason he’s doing that, and she seems to understand that. His hand moves down her front towards her crotch. 

She jolts when his fingers brush over her mound. That movement allows him to slip his hand under her better and settle back on top of her. In this position, he can press into her backside and play with her front. She feels soft to the touch, and a little too hairy down there. That can be fixed though. She probably doesn’t know she should keep her sex tidy for men yet. Or Hiccup lets her get away with whatever. That’s okay. He can teach her. His fingertips dip lower, finding her folds, and he rubs over them, groaning in her ear. She’s so warm, and already so wet. He can’t wait to feel her properly, like a man has a right to. Astrid cries at the contact, going on about ‘stop, stop it please,’ or something like that. Honestly, he’s not sure; he’s started to drown out her noises now. They’re too distracting. And that wretched dragon! Stormfly is working herself into a right fit! Stupid beast. 

He sits back again, pulling his hand from her crotch and releasing her hair. Astrid is crying, her shoulders shaking, and she’s hiding her face behind one of her hands Spitelout scoffs. That stupid dragon! She’s upsetting Astrid! But what can he do about the dragon? Anything that he could do would involve him having to leave Astrid, and he’s already come so far, done so much work. He sighs and observes Astrid’s back again, running light fingertips over the muscles again. He traces the dip between her spine all the way to the small swell of her backside again.  _ Beautiful _ . 

Spitelout raises his hips, leaning on one hand on Astrid’s back, and uses his other hand to push his pants down. Not too far, only enough for his cock to pop free. He’s been hard for so long; he’s leaking all over himself. He strokes it a couple times, sighing in relief, already wet enough that his rough hands aren’t catching on the sensitive skin. “Yes,” he sighs and pushes the head against Astrid’s backside, leaving a sticky trail on her pale skin. She tenses up and starts kicking again. Really? Spitelout thought they were past this. Luckily, she’s easy to get under control again. Poor thing is wearing herself out. 

“Spitelout, please don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t…” she begs, stuck on that one word and still struggling. He grunts in frustration and grabs onto her arms, pinning them by her head, and leaning on them to keep her still. She’s making this so much harder than it needed to be! At least in this position he can still press his cock into her skin. 

He rocks against her as he considers how he can go about getting to the real part. He could take her from behind! But he’ll have to get her to her knees, and who knows what she’ll try when that happens? He can still stay behind her by lying on top of her, but he won’t get deep enough. He wants to feel good, too, dammit! 

The only option left is to put her on her back again. 

On her back, she won’t be able to get away as easily, even if she tries to take another swing at him. Besides, if she’s on her back, Spitelout can try kissing her again; maybe it’ll calm her down some. It didn’t work last time, but perhaps Astrid is past the denial stage. He sighs, preparing himself for another small scuffle to get her where she needs to be. Although… she’s losing her fight the longer he pins her. Maybe just a couple more thrusts, to keep her complacent before flipping her over. 

Spitelout makes his move when he sees the tension leave her shoulders. He gets Astrid onto her back and settles between her legs before she can react. She makes a noise of surprise and Spitelout can see the fight in her eye, but he pins her arms beside her head before she can get any bright ideas. Without fear of being punched in the nose, he lines his cock up over her hip and rubs against her, groaning. So close. He’s  _ so close _ . 

Astrid is saying something again. Stop? He’s not paying attention. Well, he’s not listening to her  _ words _ , like a  _ boy _ would. Her body, on the other hand, is calling out for him, begging him. She’s writhing against him and making all sorts of delightful noises. Her nipples are hard, poking him in the chest as he leans into her, and the heat radiating from between her legs is amazing. Also, she’s getting the front of his pants damp. She’s even crying, she’s feeling so good! 

He takes a shuddering breath; his libido roars under his skin. He can’t hold back anymore. Acting mostly on instinct, Spitelout releases one of her hands and uses that hand to guide his cock to her cunt. 

“ ** _NO!_ ** ” she shrieks, shrill, that blasted dragon making noise alongside her. She reaches down with her free hand, pressing against his stomach; one last token resistance. He admires her ability to play the game for a moment, then pushes in. All the way in with one stroke.

She screams, rattling every bone in Spitelout’s body with the pitch of it. It’s almost enough to turn him off. Almost. She arched her back wonderfully when he pushed inside her, her chest pressing into his and her head thrown back. It was such a beautiful sight to witness, if one forgets the deafening noise she made. And she’s so tight, wrapped around him, warm, pulsing. Gods. 

He thrusts shallowly, unable to help himself. He moans; it feels so good. “Fuck,” he curses, surprised that she’s so tight. He thrusts a couple more times, nice and deep, to really make sure that she feels that tight. Was she a virgin? Now that’s a surprise. Those kids on the Edge don’t seem to follow any of the mores in place on Berk. He expected Hiccup and Astrid to be going at it like bunnies, since there are no adults to supervise them out there. But as he’s sheathed inside the girl, he’s pleasantly surprised. A swell of possessiveness rushes through him; he wants to be the only one allowed here now. He thrusts a little harder, watching her breast move under the motion. It’s a hypnotizing motion.

Astrid is mumbling something and that draws his attention to her face. Her eyes are distant, tears flowing from the corners. Her lips are parted and he can see her pink tongue moving just past her teeth. She’s not making any sense; but at least she’s not screaming anymore. Spitelout leans down, chasing after that tongue. She doesn’t respond, probably overwhelmed with pleasure. The whore. 

He lets go of her arm and she doesn’t move. Good girl. He uses both hands to cradle her head and tilt her into a better position. He moans as he folds his tongue over hers and traces her teeth. She’s entirely slack. Perfect: perfect wife material. He presses as close to her as possible, until he feels her pubic hair on the bottom of his stomach, and grinds into her as he fucks her mouth with his tongue. Again, she’s perfect. To think Hiccup almost had this!

He separates their mouths, breathing heavily. There’s a string of saliva stretched between their lips. He looks into her eyes; they look glassy, like she’s not focused at all. He grunts and sits back, pulling her legs to keep her from moving away. That feels good. He gives her a few hard thrusts, his own eyes closed in pleasure, then looks at her face again. “Lass! Lass!” Spitelout says, hitting her cheek a couple of times until her eyes focus. 

Her cheek is red from his hand. She makes eye contact with him and sobs, “Why?” 

He adjusts his knees and leans over her a bit. He runs his left hand up Astrid’s stomach and cups her breast, nipple hard against his palm, and his right hand goes to her crotch. His fingertips brush around the place where they’re joined for a moment. She shivers at the touch. Then he searches for that nub that Asa likes so much. His hand always gets tired when he does this, so it’s only for special occasions. But this is a special occasion for Astrid; losing your virginity is a big step. 

The entire time he prods around her crotch, he makes sure that she’s looking into his eyes. He finds that nub and rubs it harshly, fingers pressing in hard and in circular motions. She moans from deep inside her chest, legs kicking around his hips. He leans down and gets as close to her face as he can while still keeping his hold on her breast and rubbing over that nub. “This is what you’re meant for,” he whispers, jerking his hips to emphasize his point. She gives him a choked-off cry in response. “Nothing more than this,” he continues. “Don’t delude yourself.”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” she begs, like a mantra. That’s annoying. He changes his grip on her breast so he has her nipple between his fingers. He pinches it between his fingers, hard, and pulls up, while his other hand presses into that nub without mercy. Astrid screams, arching off the ground and pressing her chest into his. 

“You like this,” Spitelout whispers against her cheek, twisting his hips just so. She moans, sobbing at the same time. 

Spitelout sits back again, moving his hands to her hips, and starts to thrust without care. He’s done enough for her pleasure; it’s his turn now. He watches her eyes glaze over and can’t be bothered to deal with that right now, not with her quivering around him. He feels a swell of pride at the sight. She looks beautiful like this, legs spread, chest flushed, nipples hard, and eyes unfocused. Spitelout moans again, awed by the sight. He knew he was good, but he didn’t know he was this good!

He reaches for her chest again, taking a breast into his palm. He likes the softness of it contrasted against the point of her nipple. She’s still not moving, eyes unfocused. He looks down her body, to where he’s disappearing inside her. There’s some blood on his cock and he moans, pushing into her harder, suddenly filled with the need to claim her as deeply as he can. She whimpers at the harder intensity but doesn’t  _ say _ anything. Spitelout can admit that he may be a little rough but that isn’t about to stop him. Women are built to handle this. He’s not worried about hurting her at all. 

His thrusts pick up, pleasure starting to overwhelm him, but he’s not going as fast as he’d like. Stormfly is still screeching, but she’s background noise, a nice accompaniment to the sound of skin hitting skin. Spitelout leans over Astrid again, putting his elbows beside her head and spreading out on top of her. He moans at the better angle and that he can hump her faster. Astrid is crying silently beside Spitelout’s ear, tears running down her face and making Spitelout’s cheek wet, small whimpers escaping her every now and then. Spitelout can feel them against his chest. He grunts and lets the pleasure flow through him, his face pressing into her neck. The sound of his hips smacking into hers echoes in this small cave, and Spitelout loves it: those are the sounds of his virility. 

“Ready, lass?” he grunts in her ear, voice heavy. “I'm almost done. You’re doing so good.” He moans again, hips stuttering and his rhythm faltering; he’s torn between wanting to drag this out a bit more or finding the exquisite pleasure of finishing. Finishing is one of the best parts! Spitelout loves seeing his claim leaking from a woman’s cunt when he’s done. The women like it too, the release an obvious sign that they did well. He looks at her face again, needing to see her reaction to everything. She’s hardly present, lost in the pleasure she’s feeling. He thrusts in harder, chasing that finish. He’s making her feel so good that he’s sure she’ll want to do this again. She already wanted this before they got here, so it won’t be too hard to get her to do this again.

It doesn’t take long for his pleasure to crest. He presses as close as he can to her, shooting his release where no one else has been, where no one else will ever be. The sound that tears from his throat is primal, masculine. Astrid sobs, chest heaving while he finishes. Just a couple extra thrusts, to make sure that he’s as deep as he can get. Then he grinds into her, taking a few extra moments to savor the pleasure of her cunt twitching around his cock. 

He sits up, careful to not dislodge himself, and looks down at her. More tears are falling from her eyes and she won’t look at him. He runs his hand over her forehead and down her cheek, pushing some of the hair that got caught in the tears on her temple back so he can see her whole face. 

“So beautiful,” he says. Her eyes close and she tries to turn onto her stomach, but Spitelout is still stuck between her legs. Now that his lust is slaked (for now), he can really admire Astrid’s body. He takes his time, running his hands over every inch of her, whispering just how beautiful she is, how perfect she looks in this moment. Gods, he doesn’t want to pull out of her. She’s so warm and perfect. But he’s almost completely soft and, with the mess they made, he’ll be slipping out whether he wants to or not. As much as Spitelout loves that mess, it’s a nuisance more often than not. 

Stormfly screeches, loud enough that Spitelout’s ears start to ring. He shoots the beast an annoyed look. “Shut it, ya filthy reptile!” he yells. Stormfly squawks in response, continuing to pace the entrance of the cave, agitated, as if she’s still trying to find a way inside. Spitelout rolls his eyes and ignores the Nadder. She’ll wear herself out eventually. 

His attention turns back to Astrid. She’s still got some of her clothes on. Her shirt is only pushed up to her chin and her pants are still hanging off one of her legs. She’s starting to shiver again. Those clothes are still wet. He manhandles her out of the rest of her clothes, slipping out of her in the process. She doesn’t fight him and stays on the ground while he tosses her clothes into a pile across the cave. He tucks himself back into his pants and stokes the fire, bringing it back to life. It hisses and spits. With the fresh firelight, Spitelout takes another moment to admire Astrid’s body. He runs heavy hands over her body, flicking her nipples when he gets close to them. Then he circles around and pulls her legs up. He’s not a young man anymore, he can’t go again so soon, but he wants to. Her cunt is puffy and pink, with white release starting to leak out of her. Gods, Spitelout wishes he were a younger man in this moment. Instead, he collects the fluid that’s already starting to leak out and pushes it back inside her, where it belongs. 

He plays with her for a few moments, savoring the wet softness between her legs. But Astrid is starting to shiver, and he can’t sit by and let the poor girl freeze! He sits in the spot he was in earlier and drags Astrid into his lap by her arm. She’s limp and unresisting as he tucks her into him, sharing his body heat. Spitelout pets her back, watching the flames dance across from him. They’re both silent for a while, then Astrid starts crying again. She hides her face in her hands and sobs, shoulders shaking. He rubs his hands over with more force, trying to warm her. She must be colder than he thought! She won’t stop shaking. “Hush, lass, I'm here. You’re going to be okay,” he whispers to her, rocking them back and forth. She pulls her knees to her chest as best as she can in this position and continues to cry. 

He tightens his hold on her, pressing as much of her body into him, trying to get her warm, her legs falling around his hips; her being cold is the only explanation for why she won’t calm down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/_Thursday_26) and pay attention because 1 week from the day i post chapter 1, i will be posting a poll so you can vote for which story you like best. the poll will be up for 7 days, so you don’t have to decide right away, take your time and consider. I will also be tracking kudos and comments left on fics so you don’t have to get a twitter if you don’t want one, but i also encourage comments in my poll. Nice comments only. No putting anyone down or anything like that. I’ll give more information on the selection process when i’ve posted the first couple or few chapters for each story
> 
> Let me know if I missed any tags!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stormfly is on the outside, looking in, and powerless to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still some bad stuff that goes on in here, but it is not as explicit as the last chapter. I will leave a spoiler in the end notes so you can judge whether or not you want to read this chapter as well <3

Stormfly screams and paces the entrance of the cave, her anger so hot that she knows if she were a Nightmare, she would be engulfed in flames. She has always prided herself on being able to remain level-headed in crisis situations, but... she can’t do it this time. She can’t stay level-headed after what she just witnessed. What just happened…. It’s so far out of the norm that Stormfly can’t even begin to imagine the horror that Astrid has experienced. And Stormfly can’t do anything to help! Astrid and Spitelout are too far inside the cave, and the mouth of the cave isn’t even big enough for her head to fit into. Her head may not have fit, but she watched the whole thing. How… just… how did it get so horrifying so quickly?

It feels like it was yesterday that she was hiding from the fast-moving storm with Kingstail. She was chatting with her fellow-Nadder about the task that their riders were expected to complete. Stormfly had missed Astrid, feeling sad they wouldn’t have their night routine, where Astrid stroked her tail spikes until she fell asleep, but she wasn’t worried about Astrid. Astrid has always been able to handle herself, so Stormfly wasn’t worried about her safety; she was only missing her friend. 

Then she heard Astrid scream for her. 

Astrid’s scream was so full of terror that Stormfly couldn’t think. She was in the air a moment later, storm be damned, Kingstail hot on her tail. She had no idea where Astrid was waiting out this storm, and the rain was almost enough to disorient Stormfly, but Astrid called for her again, more desperate. Stormfly pushed towards the sound, fighting through the wind and the rain. Then, under it all, she was able to pick up on noises coming from the entrance of a small cave. She couldn’t get inside, so she tilted her head and looked inside with one eye. She couldn’t believe what she saw.

Stormfly had never, ever expected to see the Jorgenson-sire forcing himself on Astrid, one hand under her clothes and the other covering her mouth. For a moment, Stormfly stood frozen, unable to comprehend what was happening The humans claim to be honorable creatures, but forcing affection is not honorable. _ No! Not affection! Violence! Violence disguised as affection! _ Stormfly had never even considered this situation as a _ possibility,  _ let alone imagined that she would have to handle it! There were no contingencies for this.

She screeched, trying to get their attention. Anything to show that there was a witness there. Astrid made eye contact with her, and there was a glimmer of hope there. Stormfly cried out for her, and her heart sank as she saw Astrid realize that the cave was too small for Stormfly to fit. It’s the worst feeling that Stormfly has ever felt in her life. More than when she was captured and used to train the new recruits. More than any failure she has committed. Spitelout had smiled when he realized that she couldn’t get to them. The monster!

Too many thoughts ran through Stormfly’s mind as she watched Spitelout ravage Astrid, with only momentary spots of clarity. She could have tried to use her flame, but he was too close to Astrid. Astrid would have been hurt (or worse--although… is what happened worse than some burns?) if Stormfly had tried to fire. Her tail spikes were another option that she considered for a long time, but she couldn’t do that either. Astrid has helped Stormfly improve her accuracy to the point where she feels confident she can make nearly any shot, but she couldn’t make this one. The mouth of the cave was too small, so if she had turned to fire her spikes, she wouldn’t have seen her target anymore. Astrid has helped her with that too, but she couldn’t risk it. Spitelout was moving too much, and he was so close to Astrid, and Stormfly was so worked up she doubted she would be accurate at all. Stormfly had never felt so helpless before in her entire life, even while imprisoned. 

That indecision, the  _ inaction _ , has to be the worst thing that Stormfly has done in her entire life. Unable to do much more than screech and keep on reminding Spitelout that he is not committing this crime without a witness, and to remind Astrid that she is not alone, she watches. And she watches the entire thing. 

Stormfly does not tear her gaze away (despite her desire to) as she watches Spitelout finish, or as he touches and marvels at Astrid’s body, still as close to her as he can be. Then, he yells at Stormfly, like  _ she’s _ the one who’s done something wrong. That pisses her off. It doesn’t help that as she watches, Spitelout strips Astrid out of the rest of her clothes and settles her against him, a mockery of a hug. 

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Astrid needs to  _ get away _ from him! Stormfly screams again, wishing that there was something on this mountainside for her to use to do something!  _ Anything  _ that could help! But the only possible help around her is Kingstail, and he’s too big to fit into the cave as well. And his accuracy is not as good as Stormfly’s. 

Spitelout is too close to Astrid still. Stormfly’s chest is heaving with the force of her breathing. She feels like she may start on fire, even if it is not part of her nature. Spitelout makes eye contact with her over Astrid’s head and he smiles. Smug. 

She’s going to kill him.

As soon as she has the opportunity, Spitelout Jorgenson is going to die. His crime has marked him for death. 

The storm rages around her still, the rain pelting into her hide. She can barely feel it though, her entire focus on the riders in the cave. And she won’t find shelter; she can’t leave her post. She has failed to protect Astrid, but she refuses to leave her friend alone. 

Spitelout starts whispering to Astrid; it’s low enough that Stormfly has trouble hearing him over the storm, but she can still hear him. “ _ You’re so beautiful… felt so good, sweetheart… loved to stay inside you… you’re perfect, lying there like a real woman… taking everything I gave to you… _ ” 

He continues along those lines, and it makes Stormfly’s stomach twist. What sort of right does Spitelout have to talk about Astrid like that? Spitelout should be dead now! Stormfly is so absorbed in her disgust that it’s a shock when she hears Astrid speak. “Stop, Spitelout… please…” She sounds so small. Defeated. Stormfly never imagined that Astrid could sound like that. 

He chuckles, adjusting himself and jostling Astrid for a moment. “Stop what? Complimenting you?” A growl rumbles deep in Stormfly’s chest, but she has to quell it. She wants to hear what they’re saying. 

“Stop… just stop…” Astrid sobs. “I just want to go home…”

His large palm runs down her back and she tries to shrink away from the touch, but the movement makes her lean into his chest. He kisses the top of her head, tightening his grip around her. Like he’s giving her a hug. Stormfly can’t breathe, she’s so angry. “We can’t go anywhere in this storm. Might as well stay right where we are.”

Astrid shudders and shakes her head. “I want to leave,” she chokes out, more tears running down her face. Stormfly jumps to her feet and tries to pace. She can’t sit still; she needs to do something. Even pace. Although she doesn’t leave Spitelout’s sightline, so she’s only taking a step either way. But she  _ cannot _ sit still.

“Leave? Are you mad?” Spitelout chuckles, giving her another “hug” and rubbing one hand over the outside of her thigh. “It’s better for us to wait out the storm here, where we’re safe and dry.” Stormfly watches Spitelout’s hand caressing Astrid’s thigh and she wishes that she could bite it off. 

“I want to go home,” Astrid sobs.

Spitelout scoffs. “You’re acting pretty ungrateful, Astrid. It’s like you didn’t even want this.”

“I told you to stop!” she screams and cries harder, trying to push away from him, but he keeps her close. She can barely fight him now. Stormfly can see how exhausted Astrid is. And Spitelout is so much bigger than her. 

Stormfly snarls, a warning. Spitelout ignores her. He rolls his eyes. “Sure, you  _ said _ that,” he says to Astrid, “but you  _ wanted  _ this.” That hand that was on her thigh starts touching her with more purpose. He touches her stomach and her chest and traces his fingers down until it’s between her legs. He nudges her own leg out, and as he does that he whispers to her, “Your body told me that you wanted this.” 

Astrid tries to fight out of his hold, but she can’t break free. Spitelout smiles when he sees her mouth fall open and her eyes squeeze shut.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the side of her face, breathing against her. Astrid reaches down and tries to pry his hand away from between her legs, but she can’t. The muscles in Spitelout’s arm are flexing and he smiles against her skin when she starts to squirm against him. Astrid starts making little grunting noises, struggling a little harder. “Don’t hold it in,” he coos, “let yourself feel it.” His whole arm flexes and it gets closer to her. “You know you want to.”

Astrid shakes her head and bites her lip, still fighting. Stormfly can’t look away. Her anger is bubbling inside her, and only burning hotter with every noise Astrid is forced to make and every tooth Stormfly sees when Spitelout smiles.  _ Spitelout is going to die _ . That’s the only thought that’s preventing Stormfly from bashing herself against the mountainside for her failure to Astrid. She has to kill Spitelout. 

It doesn’t take long for Spitelout to get the reaction he’s prodding for. Astrid nearly bites her lip off before her mouth falls open and she’s moaning, her face twisting in anguish. Stormfly calls out for her, to remind her that she’s not alone. Astrid’s head falls back and her hips press forward. She’s still trying to push Spitelout’s hand away from her, but he doesn’t seem to register that. Instead, he smiles. “There you go,” he encourages. “You girls never know what you want. A man’s gotta show you.” 

Astrid sobs and covers her face with one of her hands, the other still working to push Spitelout away. Her legs kick out and a moan breaks from her. It sounds like it was forced out of her, like she used every ounce of her strength to keep it inside. It’s cracking and full of anguish. Her hips flex and she falls, lax, against Spitelout, breathing heavily. He chuckles and kisses her head again. “See? That felt good.” He pulls his hand away and his fingers are coated in slick. Stormfly can feel her flame in the back of her throat. Spitelout  _ took _ that from her. That is not his to have. 

There’s a couple of moments where Spitelout plays with the slick, opening and closing his fingers, watching them with lust-filled eyes. “My turn,” he says, his hand reaching for his pants. 

Stormfly’s stomach drops. No. No. No. 

“Stop, please, stop,” Astrid cries, pulling her legs together and towards her chest, “I don’t want to...”

Spitelout frowns. “Don’t be selfish, Astrid. It’s only fair.” 

“Don’t make me do it,” she begs, sounding so tired. Stormfly’s heart breaks for her. Isn’t there anything she can do?!

Spitelout holds the hand still wet with her slick in front of her face. Astrid recoils, looking away from him. “See this?” He jostles her until she looks at the fingers. He pulls them apart and there’s strings of slick stretched between them. Astrid makes a sound of distress. “I'm not making you do anything.” 

Stormfly’s breathing picks up. She can’t help the whisper that’s torn from her.  _ “Monster. Monster. Monster.”  _

Astrid grabs onto Spitelout’s wrist and tries to push him away, her gaze falling to the side again. She doesn’t want to look at it. But he won’t be moved. “Are you really going to be selfish?” he asks, voice dangerous, a warning. 

Astrid whimpers, “I don’t want this!” 

Spitelout rolls his eyes. “Yes, you do. We’ve already established that. Now, stop fighting.” He gets a tighter grip around her, so she stops moving. “We’ve already fucked, what does it matter if we do it again?”

Astrid weeps, hiding her face in her hands. Spitelout sighs in frustration and manhandles her so she’s straddling his lap, knees outside his hips. The slick on his hand smears over her hip and her backside. Astrid doesn’t move her hands, sobbing into them while Spitelout pulls out his cock. He strokes his hand over it a couple times, spreading whatever slick is left over it, making sounds of pleasure as he does so.  _ No, he won’t _ , Stormfly says to herself, hoping that what she’s seeing isn’t true. But, after Spitelout has giving himself a couple strokes, he holds it in position and pushes Astrid onto it. 

Stormfly watches in horror as Spitelout moans and guides Astrid until she’s settled all the way on his lap. He’s doing this again? Has he no shame? Stormfly cries out in anguish this time, her heart shattering. 

Spitelout groans when she’s settled fully onto his lap, grinding up into her for a moment. He holds her down with one hand and lets his other hand run over her hips and back, sometimes squeezing the flesh of her backside. Astrid is still crying, hiccupping from the strength of her sobs. Then, when Spitelout starts to move again, she stops. It’s silent and Stormfly fears that Astrid is dead. Her arms go slack and fall to her side. She slumps into Spitelout’s chest. 

He chuckles and moves her arms so they’re over his shoulders, like she’s hugging him. His hands cover her hips and his arms flex and he pulls Astrid up and down his cock. Astrid makes little grunting noises and there is a disgusting mix of relief and anger that surges through Stormfly. Stormfly can’t… every part inside her wants to look away from this crime, but she can’t. She can’t leave Astrid alone with him. 

Spitelout groans, head falling back, his helmet clanging off the cave wall. “Atta’girl. You’re doing great,” he moans, pushing his hips up harder. Stormfly watches his hips lift up off the ground. His rhythm is already stuttering. The movement makes one of Astrid’s arms slide off Spitelout’s shoulder. He doesn’t notice. It isn’t long before he’s pulling Astrid as close as he can, stilling and moaning into the side of her neck. He holds her close, running his hands all over her body, touching every part that he can reach. Stormfly watches him touch her back, her shoulders, her backside, and listens to the moan he makes every time he squeezes something. He presses his lips into her neck and breathes against her, eyes closed. “So good, darling. So good,” he whispers. One of his hands he slips between their bodies. Stormfly assumes that he’s touching Astrid’s chest again. Then his hand comes from under her armpit and down the arm that slipped from his shoulder, and he drags it down until he reaches her hand. He laces their fingers together and brings them to his lips. “Perfect, so perfect,” he mumbles against her knuckles. 

Astrid doesn’t respond and Spitelout doesn’t seem keen to move them at all. He settles back, sighing, and pressing his free hand in the middle of Astrid’s lower back. He pulls her hand up so he can drape her arm over his shoulder again. He lets her arm go and brings his hand back down to rest on her thigh. He sighs again, relaxing further. Stormfly watches Spitelout fall asleep, his grip lax and his mouth opening slightly. She can’t tell if Astrid falls asleep; she can’t see her face. 

Stormfly watches them, watches until Spitelout’s soft cock falls out of Astrid and the mess he made leaks from her. It’s then that Astrid starts shaking again, like she’s cold. Stormfly is sick to her stomach. Seeing Astrid like this, shivering and still too close to that monster, it’s the only moment that Stormfly is weak enough to look away. 

Her eyes land on Kingstail. He’s crouched nearby, but outside Stormfly’s blindspot, wide-eyed and shaking. Stormfly doesn’t know if it’s the rain that’s making him shiver, or something else.  _ “I'm sorry, _ ” he says when they make eye contact. He doesn’t look away from Stormfly’s eyes. She knows that he hasn’t been able to see what happened, but he heard it. 

_ “Your apology is meaningless,” _ Stormfly snarls,  _ “and it not your apology to give.” _

_ “I know,” _ he concedes, averting his gaze. _ “I can’t think of anything else to say.” _

Stormfly tries not to be angry with Kingstail. What happened was not his fault, and he’s only a young dragon. He’s probably scared.  _ “Will you fly with him again?” _ she asks, needing to know. 

_ “No,” _ he responds without hesitation, standing up and clawing at his saddle, not giving Stormfly time to consider what she would do if he answered in the affirmative. The leather tears under his claws and Stormfly can see him scratch his own scales in his haste. The saddle falls to pieces on the ground and he blasts it with his flame. It hisses and steams under the heat. And he continues to blast it until it is destroyed. _ “Never,” _ he vows.

For good measure, Stormfly adds her own flame to the saddle until there’s nothing but wet ashes and tarnished buckles. Satisfied, she turns her attention back to Astrid and that monster. They haven’t moved. Spitelout is snoring loudly, head leaning back, and Astrid is still astride him. Astrid’s shoulders are shaking and Stormfly can hear her crying. 

Stormfly can’t fall asleep; she won’t. She needs to be ready the moment that Astrid can escape. So she sits, and she watches, cold rain pelting against her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/_Thursday_26)!
> 
> be sure to let me know what you think and leave a kudos if you're liking it!
> 
> SPOILER: in this chapter, it is a Stormfly POV and she watches the assault happen just outside the cave and cannot help


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm breaks, or is it merely the eye of the storm?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this for sure has to have a trigger warning in the end notes, okay. Spoilers in the TW, but without saying too much, this is an Astrid POV and it hurts to read, but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE look at the trigger warning if the past couple chapters have been hard to read 
> 
> I am very serious, this chapter could definitely trigger you. Please heed the warning if you have reactions to rape already, i will be as specifc as possible so there are not surprises if you want to continue on, but if you want to bail, the fourth chapter will come out tomorrow

The first thing that Astrid notices is blue sky. Clear blue. Flying blue. The storm has finally broken. How long has the sky been clear? Does it matter? She’s never felt so grateful to see that blue sky more in her life. Then everything else starts to filter into her awareness, starting with seeing Stormfly at the mouth of the cave. It looks like she might be resting, but Astrid can’t find the energy to focus her eyes. 

The next thing she notices is the cold hard ground she’s lying on. There’s a pebble digging into her hip. Her right hip. The one on the ground. She’s naked, dried sweat having caught dirt and leaving her feeling a little itchy. The skin between her thighs is slick and cold… slimy. It sickens her if she even shifts her legs. How did she get like this again?

… Right…

Spitelout. His arm is heavy over her side, hand lax, but fingers brushing over her breast every time she exhales. Spitelout snores. Sometimes loudly, the noise vibrating through from where they are touching. His breath is hot over the back of her neck, sometimes tickling the short hairs there. Sometimes he smacks his lips after a particularly loud snore.

She can feel that Spitelout isn’t wearing a shirt. A memory of him complaining about being too hot flashes in her mind and her stomach turns. She remembers Spitelout coaching her through playing with his nipples and the way he kept on saying “good girl” when she did something he liked. 

Other memories rush in: rough hands on her skin, a solid weight on her back, the phantom feeling of a foreign tongue in her mouth. Bile rises in her throat at everything he made her do. She swallows it down, clenching her fists.. There’s no reason for her to get worked up; it’s over now. Finally, she can put this nightmare behind her. She takes a moment to breathe, to collect herself, then tries to pull away. That arm around her middle tightens, hand cupping her breast, keeping her from getting anywhere, and Spitelout’s snoring cuts off. “Where ya going, lass?” he asks sleepily, nuzzling his face into the back of her neck, hand flexing and massaging her chest. 

She shivers, the hair on his face tickling her. It feels like there’s something just at the back of her throat wanting to come out, heavy and acidic, but she keeps it at bay, somehow. “Storm’s over. I'm getting dressed,” she mumbles back, trying to push down the unwelcome shiver of pleasure from being fondled. She keeps her eyes forward, not wanting to look at him at all. She spots her clothes in a messy pile and focuses on that. They’re so close, but with Spitelout’s arm around her, they feel like they’re so far away. 

He squeezes her once more before trailing his hand down her stomach and covering her hip, rolling forward her onto her a little bite. He presses his crotch into her backside, groaning, and pulls back on her hip. “How about once more?” he mumbles into her neck, right below her ear, lips teasing the skin. She can feel his cock hardening against her, through the pants he always puts back on. 

She wants to cry. She wants to scream. She wants desperately to say no and have him listen, but she knows that they’ll still end up doing what Spitelout wants. Spitelout always convinces her that he’s the one who truly knows what she wants, no matter what she tells him. To Astrid’s horror, there are moments… where what Spitelout does feels good. Is she… is she getting worked up for no reason? Does he really know better than she does?

She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. That doesn’t matter right now. Right now, she has Spitelout poking at her backside and she has a choice to make: does she give in now, or have Spitelout convince her to do it anyway? If she does what he wants, it’ll be over sooner. “J-Just once?” she asks, hating herself. 

“Yeah… just once,” he agrees, his hand already moving from her hip to her crotch. 

She resists the urge to cross her legs when his fingertips brush over her pubic hair and starts to tease lower. She resists partly because Spitelout will get between them anyway, and partly because she doesn’t like how the mess feels between her thighs when she moves. “Fine,” she says, voice tight, “once more.” Somewhere, deep down in her pelvis, there’s a flutter of… something that feels too much like anticipation. But she doesn’t  _ want  _ this… at least, she thinks she doesn’t. Does she only think she doesn’t?

“Atta’girl,” he praises, patting her hip and rolling her onto her back. He settles between her legs, looming over her. Fear shoots through her as she stares at his chest. He’s not looking at her face; he’s looking down her body and pulling his cock free from his pants and licking his lips. Astrid stares at it, watching him stroke himself a couple of times. Disgust rolls in her gut as she watches him harden. He stops stroking and settles himself between her legs. His hands are rough on her hips, pulling her into his lap and closer to... Astrid can’t watch. She turns her head to the side and braces herself, holding her breath. 

She blinks. The way that she’s turned, she’s wound up staring straight at Stormfly, who is awake and watching her with wide eyes. Astrid closes her eyes and turns her head the other way quickly. She doesn’t want her friend to see her like this. 

Then she feels Spitelout push inside of her. She grits her teeth at the sensation, willing the bile in her throat back down. Spitelout moans, stilling when he’s all the way inside, the coarse hair on his lower stomach and groin pushing into her. She covers her mouth, eyes squeezed shut, and lets Spitelout do whatever he wants. He won’t last that long anyway. She just has to get through this and then it will be over, she reminds herself. One last time, and it’ll be over. 

His hips start moving and he kisses her chest and neck, groaning and praising her. She hates it, but she won’t tell him that. He’ll just do it more to “prove” that she really does like what he’s doing. And that’s always so confusing because there’s a part of her that does enjoy some of the things he does: like the way his lips feel on her neck… especially on that one spot... 

She flinches when he manages to find that spot and sucks on it. Her eyes open and are wet with tears, mouth still covered and her hand stifling her sobs. She doesn’t want this! So why does it sometimes feel good?! Is there something wrong with her? How can she enjoy something that she doesn’t want? How can her body be so out of sync with her mind? Is Spitelout right? 

His hands cover her chest again and she whines, eyes closing again. His hands are too rough and he’s squeezing too hard, but she won’t say anything. He wouldn’t listen anyway. 

He thrusts harder and squeezes harder, sometimes loosening his grip enough to play with her nipples, pulling and twisting them until her back is arching off the ground. She bites her lip, her teeth scratching over her palm. There’s an unwanted bolt of pleasure that shoots to her groin every time Spitelout pinches her nipples just right. The pleasure traitorously pools there and builds, pushing toward that edge that he’s forced her over so many times.

He pries her hand from her mouth, lacing their fingers together and pinning their hands beside her head. His other hand goes to her chin, forcing her to turn her head. She doesn’t open her eyes. His breath is hot over her mouth. He’s panting and whispering flattering things to her. Then he’s kissing her, just lips at first, then he forces her mouth open by pressing on the hinge of her jaw with his thumb. She hates it. His tongue is cold and wet and she doesn’t like it, but he keeps on swirling it in her mouth, tracing over the backs of her teeth and curling over her tongue. He’s moaning loudly against her, grinding in close and squeezing her fingers between his. His thumb is still digging into her jaw and that point is starting to ache. Astrid reflexively squeezes her hand in response to his squeezing and that seems to make him move faster. 

She forces herself to kiss him back, not because she wants to, but because she’s remembering that Spitelout doesn’t seem to like it when she does. He seems to get annoyed when she does, but not angry, like maybe she’s taking the fun out of it but he doesn’t want to discourage her. Thankfully the kissing doesn’t last as long when she starts to kiss him back. 

He pulls back from her lips, but he doesn’t move far. He stays leaning over her, lowering his chest into hers and his breath hot on her forehead. His thrusts are deep and getting faster. The hand not interlocked with hers comes up to her shoulder, his fingers digging into her skin as his pace picks up. “I'm close,” he grunts, pushing in harder, each thrust in pushing air out of Astrid’s lungs. It doesn’t help that he’s also so heavy and putting a lot of weight on her. He looks down at her and they make eye contact. When did she open her eyes again? Each time the air is pushed out of her, it could be mistaken for a gasp. Spitelout smiles at her, face and chest flushed, hair sticking to his forehead. “Feels good, right?” he asks, lips pressing into her forehead. It feels like he presses into her skin harder as his breathing picks up and his pace jostles Astrid more. She can feel the front of his teeth pressing into her forehead. 

Astrid cries, a sob cracking from her chest without her consent. She doesn’t want to say anything to him. She wants to finish this quietly and without participation, but he’ll continue to ask until he gets an answer. “Yes, Spitelout,” she sobs, hating herself because under all the  _ wrong _ she feels to have him inside her, there’s a part of her that feels good. His smile is pressed into her forehead. “It feels good,” she adds without prompting. She doesn’t want him to ask anymore questions.

“Good,” he grunts, “good.” He releases her hand and reaches down to pull one of her legs over his hip, his other hand still digging into her shoulder. The angle changes and Astrid cries out, hips twitching. It hurts. Spitelout moans and keeps that angle, quickening his pace, whispering all sorts of things that Astrid is choosing to ignore. 

Astrid can’t help the sounds that each of Spitelout’s thrusts draws from her. Or how she moves her hips, trying to ease the stab of pain from each inward thrust. He says something about knowing the best positions, but she can’t focus on that. Her hands are digging into his sides, as if it could shift him, but he feels like an immovable object.  _ Only a little bit longer… only a little bit longer… _ she chants to herself, clinging to the hope that he’s almost done.

Thank the gods, it isn’t much longer before Spitelout stills, nearly yelling in her face as he finishes. He tenses up, his fingers digging into her shoulder and leg to the point where Astrid tries to pry them off, but they’re in such an awkward position that her fingers mostly slip over his skin. He doesn’t let go. Astrid squeezes her eyes closed, gritting her teeth, and tries to wait out Spitelout giving a few more thrusts. It’s almost over. It’s almost over. Their chests are still pressed together and he rubs his chest over hers, the hair on his body burning her skin. His small thrusts turn into lazy grinds and Astrid can feel his breath on her face. She still won’t open her eyes.

He mashes their lips together again, moaning and settling his body onto hers fully, crushing her. She can’t breathe. He’s moving his lips against hers, pressing too hard, hips still moving, but in very small motions. She pushes at his chest when her lungs start to burn, her legs kicking a bit in panic. He pulls back with a loud smack, panting loudly. Astrid gasps for breath, her eyes snapping open without her consent. She can feel her chest rising and falling and is hyper aware of the motion.

Spitelout is looking into her eyes, soft. Softer than anything she’s ever seen on his face before. Her breath stutters. He looks...normal. Like any normal Viking would in the comfort of his home. She doesn’t remember what happened to his helmet, but she also can’t remember a time where she’s seen Spitelout’s bare head. Her mind races, trying to process the man she’s seeing now and the man she’s spent the night with. They don’t seem like the same person.

…she doesn’t like it… it’s confusing. Her chest is tight and she wishes he would leave her alone.

“You’re so amazing, Astrid,” he whispers reverently, brushing her hair off her forehead with a soft touch. 

Astrid flinches. “Get off,” she says, voice flat. “I want to get dressed.” Why does it feel like she’s being rude?

He kisses her again, a short peck, and rolls off. Astrid stays on her back for a moment, surprised that he listened to her. “I did promise only once. And I am a man of my word.” She doesn’t watch him anymore, not caring what he does next.

Astrid rolls the other way, towards her clothes and crawls towards them shakily. It feels odd for Spitelout to not be touching her anymore. Does that mean she wants him to touch her? Does it mean that she misses it? That she was just pretending not to want it before, like he says? Her body doesn’t feel like her own anymore.

She shakes her head and shakes out her clothes. They’re wrinkled and a little wet still, having not been laid out properly the night before. She stands, wanting to put her pants on first, but when she stands, all sorts of fluids run down her thighs. Some of it’s warm, some cold. The warm stuff is what makes her gag. She has to cover her mouth. She didn’t want this, and now her clothes will be ruined because she refuses to leave this cave without being fully dressed. She refuses to be in Spitelout’s company without being dressed.

She uses the bottom of her leggings to try and mop up some of the mess between her legs. It’s not clean, but it’s enough for now, most of the sliminess taken care of. She jumps into them as quickly as she can, pulling her skirt on over the top, feeling safer with another layer covering her there. Then she pulls her shirt on, relieved to finally be covered. She steps into her boots, the mess at the end of one side of her leggings safely hidden and tucked into her boot. 

No one has to know what happened. She can start to pretend this excursion never happened. Even if her hips hurt… and there are bruises on her wrists and shoulders and possibly her hips… and it feels like she has a burn on her neck from Spitelout’s face hair... She covers the skin on the side of her neck, shaking her head. They can go back to Berk now, she can go home… but… she’ll have to explain to Hiccup why they couldn’t complete this exercise.

Astrid freezes. What is she going to tell Hiccup?! 

She covers her mouth again, nausea coursing through her, unable to stop the loud retching noise like she might vomit. “What are you getting worked up over now?” Spitelout sneers.

“What do I tell Hiccup?” she whispers, looking at him.

He scoffs and pulls his shirt over his head, standing and shaking out his arms. Then he puts his helmet back on. The boots are next and seeing him like this calms something inside Astrid. This is the Spitelout she knows. The one that she could see walking around the village, or talking to Snotlout. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like she’ll have as much trouble looking at this Spitelout. “Well,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “the first thing you should do is give back your betrothal gift.” 

Astrid takes a step back, her hands crossing over her chest, where the pendant of the necklace would be if she were wearing it. “What?! Why?!” She still  _ likes _ Hiccup and wants to be with him, even if she has no idea how to explain what happened last night.

He stares at her for a moment, like he doesn’t believe what he’s heard. She feels very small and stupid under that look. Cowed, almost. “You can’t marry the Hope and Heir now. You know his bride has to be a virgin. And after what we did for the past day… well, you’re not a virgin anymore, sweetheart.” He chuckles blithely and has a stupid grin on his face, like he didn’t just ruin her life. 

Anger flares through her. How can he say that so easily?! He’s talking like this doesn’t affect anything at all! “I didn’t want to do any of this!” she shouts, that something that’s been stuck in the back of her throat finally falling loose. “You forced—"

“I didn’t force  _ anything _ !” he yells, cutting her off. He takes a step forward, looming over her, and she shrinks back, scared, her anger hiding away quickly. He’s getting too close and he’s already proven that he can overpower her. She doesn’t want him to do it again. “You seduced  _ me _ !” he accuses. “And it’s  _ your _ fault you’re not a good enough bride for Hiccup anymore!”

“I-I didn’t—” she tries to argue, mind racing trying to find something to say. It can’t be her fault. She tried to stop him from the very start but he kept on  _ taking _ . 

“Yes you did!” he snarls, grabbing her by her braid and forcing her head back. She cries out, hands reaching back to try and make him let go. He steps in close, pressing his body into hers, and he leans down. “You’re  _ Astrid Hofferson _ . No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do. You can’t blame  _ me _ for what  _ you wanted _ to happen.” 

Tears prick in the corners of her eyes. That’s true; she is tough. No one would believe that Spitelout could force her to do anything that she didn’t want. But he… he overpowered her… but… no one can make her do anything… she’s the best… So… even with her protests, does that mean that she wanted this to happen? That she didn’t fight hard enough because she secretly wanted him, that she let him do this?

She whimpers. “What do I tell Hiccup?” No one is going to believe her if she says that Spitelout overpowered her.

His other hand comes up to her chest and he spreads his palm over her heart. There’s a layer of cloth between his hand and her skin, but it feels like a brand. She doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t try to get away. It feels like it would be pointless. “You’re going to tell Hiccup,” his hand travels down to her belly button and back up, “that you finally succumbed to your attraction to me.” He’s looking where’s he’s touching.

“I can’t tell him that!” Mostly because it’s  _ not true! _ If anything, she hates Spitelout more than she ever has before. She’s absolutely disgusted with him! 

“Well then, you really screwed yourself into a corner, didn’t you, lass?” he asks, chuckling and moving his hand to one of her breasts, fondling it through her shirt. She hates it. She hates it so much. Even with her clothes on, he’s still touching her. He’s still not looking at her, but at her chest.

“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice shaking.

“Well,” he moves his hand so he’s playing with her nipple, “once it gets out you’re not fit to be Hiccup’s bride anymore, I doubt there will be another man who will want you.” He pauses for a moment, smile stretching over his face. Her scalp is starting to hurt with how hard he’s holding her head back. “Or rather, another man that would want to marry you. You’ll probably have a lot of interest for sex, but not for a commitment. A spinster whore.” He punctuates that comment with a pinch to her nipple, making her grunt and flinch. 

No, that can’t be true. It can’t be. A spinster whore. How disgraceful. What would her father think? What would her mother say? How could she even defend herself? No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Stormfly makes a shrill noise, preventing Astrid from spiralling, but Spitelout is right. As much as Astrid wants to deny it, he’s  _ right _ . No one wants to marry a whore. She can’t not get married… it would dishonor her family. 

What can she do? She can’t reject Hiccup’s proposal, a proposal from the Hope and Heir, without something else to fall back on, especially with the loss of her virginity. She can’t let her family down. She’s worked so hard to be a daughter her parents can be proud of, but that’s all gone, because of one stupid night. Everything is gone. All her hard work, for nothing. “Would you do it?” she asks, hating herself for needing to ask it, but she can’t think of another way. Does it matter though?

“Do what?” he responds, distracted. His focus is on his hand that is playing with her chest. 

“Marry me.” It’s her only option.

His attention snaps to her eyes. “I already have a wife, lass.” 

Her throat feels tight. “But you can take a second wife. You have good standing in the village and you can afford it…” Her life is over anyway.

He grimaces. “I don’t know, Astrid. That sounds like a lot of work. And you’re a good lay, but I don’t think you’re wife material.” The entire time he’s saying this, he’s still fondling her. Her nipple is starting to hurt.

She feels desperation clawing at her chest. This is the only way out of this now. No one else will even consider her. She grabs onto the front of his shirt, knuckles going white. Stormfly makes another sound, but Astrid can’t focus on that right now. “Please, Spitelout? I can’t be a spinster. It would destroy my parents. Please,” she begs. It doesn’t matter that it’s Spitelout, this is it. This is all she has.

Spitelout sighs and lets go of her hair. She pulls on his shirt more, needing to keep him close. “You can teach me!” she offers desperately. His eyes spark with interest. “Teach me how to be a proper wife. Please, Spitelout.” She hates every word she’s saying.

Outside, Stormfly screams. Spitelout rubs his chin in thought, humming. She can’t handle waiting for him to think about this. She needs his answer  _ now. _ She needs to have something before she gets back to Berk, before she has to talk to Hiccup. “You’re a man of honor, right?” she asks him.

Stormfly shrieks. Spitelout smiles, his chest puffing up. “Yes, I am.” 

“You have to take responsibility for me now. It’s the honorable thing to do. It’s my fault that I seduced you, but, as a man, you are honor-bound to protect me.” She pauses, taking a deep breath, not realizing that her breathing is uneven. “If you don’t marry me, you are condemning me.”

It’s loose reasoning, she knows that, but it seems to appease something inside of Spitelout. He softens and sighs, cupping her face. “Okay, lass. I’ll take ye as my second wife.”

Stormfly screams again. Astrid lets out a breath of relief and suppresses her flinch when Spitelout kisses her again. She doesn’t fight him, letting him kiss as long as he wants. This is her future husband, he’s allowed to do this sort of thing. Hiccup flashes into her mind. That used to apply to him. Not anymore. Her stomach twists and she pushes that thought to the back of her mind. This is her future now. One that she helped bring to fruition.

“Let’s go home,” Spitelout says when he pulls away. Astrid nods, biting her lip and trying not to cry. Before she can get too far from him, he grabs onto her wrist. “One more thing, darling.” He reaches up with his free hand and taps the kransen wrapped around her head. “This,” he says, “is mine now.”

Astrid’s eyes go wide. “What? No--”

Spitelout scoffs. “It’s a marker of your purity. Which you gave to me all of yesterday and even this morning.” Astrid thinks she may be sick. “So it only makes sense that you give it to me.” 

She raises a hand to the strip of leather. “It’s supposed to be for my daughter…”

“And I’ll be sure that she gets it,” Spitelout responds easily. “Now stop fighting me and do as I say, or do you want me to change my mind?” He’s frowning impatiently at her. Does she even have a choice?

Astrid closes her eyes, trying not to cry as she reaches up and removes the kransen without further argument. It takes everything she has to let go when Spitelout takes it from her hand. He wraps it around his wrist a couple of times. Astrid stares at it, feeling like she’s lost part of herself and oddly on display. Anyone can look and will recognize it as her kransen. Everyone will know without either of them saying a word. Spitelout shakes it out, offering her a bright smile. “Looks good, don’t it, lass?” 

Astrid forces herself to smile back and nod. She means to say something else, but the words are stuck in her throat. Spitelout leans down and gives her another kiss. A short one, just a peck on the lips. “Thank you, lass,” he whispers and he sounds genuinely grateful. What could he be grateful for? Astrid ruining her life?

Astrid turns and grabs the pack that she came to the island with and exits the cave first, one hand touching the empty space on her forehead. She feels like she’s left something behind. 

Stormfly almost knocks Astrid over when she steps out of the cave. She’s vibrating with energy, making all sorts of clicking and chirping noises and nuzzling the top of Astrid’s head with her chin. Astrid knows that Stormfly is scenting her, and that eases something in her chest. She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face as she reaches her hand out and scratches Stormfly’s neck. “Hey, girl,” she whispers.

Stormfly whimpers and takes another step closer to Astrid, putting a wing around her and pulling her close. Astrid is tempted to hide under Stormfly’s wing for the rest of her life… but she can’t. She has to face the consequences of her actions. She’s never been one to hide from responsibility.

“Where’s Kingstail?” Spitelout asks and Stormfly’s entire demeanor changes. She snarls, stilling and snapping her attention to Spitelout. Her tail spikes snap out and Astrid has a moment of panic. Stormfly wants to kill Spitelout!

“No! Stormfly, don’t!” Astrid cries, grabbing onto the dragon’s neck to draw her attention away from Spitelout. Stormfly tenses, staying her attack. She gives Astrid a glance, waiting for her to speak. “You can’t kill him,” Astrid chokes out, hating that she has to say those words. Stormfly makes a clicking sound, followed by a short growl, shaking her head. “You can’t,” Astrid pleads. 

_ “Force-mate. Spitelout must die _ ,” Stormfly responds shortly, factually. 

“He didn’t…” Astrid sighs, fighting back tears, “…he didn’t force me to do anything.” Those words taste so bitter on her tongue. Stormfly doesn’t look like she believes Astrid. Astrid needs her to understand. She can’t control Stormfly’s actions, but Stormfly has always been able to listen to reason. She steps in as close as she can, and whispers, only loud enough for Stormfly to hear, “If you kill him, you’ll ruin me.”

Stormfly looks uncertain, but her tail spikes relax. She stares at Astrid for a couple of tense moments. All Astrid can think of is how disappointed Stormfly must be in her. “ _ Stormfly know what Stormfly saw, _ ” she says, calm. “ _ Not-understand. But will listen. Defer to human. _ ” She doesn’t sound happy, and Astrid shouldn’t have expected any less, but she appreciates it. Stormfly is one of her best friends. Astrid reaches up and wraps her arms around Stormfly’s neck, unable to convey how much this means to her. 

“Where’s Kingstail?” Spitelout asks again, sounding impatient. 

“ _ Gone _ ,” Stormfly snaps at him, growling at him as well. She makes that click and growl sound again. Spitelout doesn’t seem to like it. 

“I can’t understand you, you ruddy beast,” Spitelout snaps back at her. He turns to Astrid. “What did it say?” 

“She said he’s gone,” Astrid translates, confused. “Where did he go? Is he okay?”

Stormfly snorts and shakes her head. “ _ Like Stormfly say, Stormfly know what Stormfly saw. Kingstail know what Kingstail hear. No respectable dragon allow Spitelout on back. _ ”

Astrid’s eyes go wide. What could that mean? “No dragon? How is he supposed to get back to Berk?”

“What’s it saying?” Spitelout cuts in, still sounding impatient. 

Stormfly gives him the most unimpressed look Astrid has ever seen on her face. “ _ Good-riddance if Spitelout left here. _ ” 

Astrid can feel fear bubbling in her chest. How can she explain the dragons not liking Spitelout? She knows that Spitelout is not easy to like, but to have a whole species reject him? “Can’t you take him back?” she asks. 

“ _ No _ ,” Stormfly states, shaking her head. 

Astrid’s heart drops. She has to get Spitelout back to Berk. How else is he going to marry her? How else can she put this horrible day into the past? “Please, Stormfly? For me?” she pleads, trying to rein in just how scared she is. 

Stormfly glares at her. “ _ Astrid not-play fair. _ ” 

Astrid widens her eyes and pouts her lip, somehow managing to push down the panic in her chest. “Please?”

Stormfly growls and concedes, “ _ Carry like prey. _ ” 

Astrid’s panic gives way to a wave of amusement at the thought, but she can’t show that. “Thank you, Stormfly. You’re the best,” Astrid thanks, giving her another brief hug before climbing onto her back. She ignores the small pinch of pain she feels between her legs when she settles onto the saddle. 

Stormfly takes off once Astrid is seated. “Hey! Are you leaving me behind?!” Spitelout yells from the ground. 

Stormfly hovers and Astrid stares down at Spitelout. She’s filled with the desire to leave him here, to get away from him. But that’s only for a moment. She can’t reject her duty, or run from the consequences of her actions. “No! We’re just doing something a little different!” Astrid calls back. 

Stormfly descends on Spitelout, collecting him in her talons like she would a yak or a sheep. Spitelout screams as he’s lifted into the air. Astrid giggles at the noise. She leans in the saddle, ignoring his yells of displeasure as Stormfly tosses Spitelout into the air a couple of times, catching him by his arms or legs. They don’t make much progress while Stormfly has her fun, but eventually Stormfly settles on carrying him by one leg. 

Spitelout is yelling something, holding onto his helmet so he doesn’t lose it in the sea, but Astrid can barely hear him over the roar of the wind as Stormfly flies. And she is definitely not smiling the whole way back to Berk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Astrid "allows" (not really by i can't think of another word) Spitelout to "have sex" with her one more time. This time she is aware and it uncomfortable and she is forced to say things that she doesn't want to say. Astrid also blames herself for what's happening. Victim blaming is very prevalent in this chapter, and self-hatred and self-disgust. I think i've been as clear as i can
> 
> Follow me on [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/_Thursday_26)! 
> 
> Be sure to leave kudos or comments! I'm still taking note of everything and I want to know what you guys think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid breaks the news to Hiccup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay i decided to give y'all one last chapter before the voting ends! Link to the poll in the end notes! Don't forget to leave comments! I take into account everything!
> 
> I don't think that any new tags need to be added! Perhaps only a character tag! I think this really gets the plot moving forward! But again! Heed the tags as you read it! Idk if it gets worse before it gets better but it definitely isn't better yet!!

For the most part, Astrid leaves her betrothal gift on the Edge, with all her stuff. Sure, Berk is where she’s grown up, it’ll always be one of her homes, but the Edge is her home right now. It’s where she keeps her precious belongings, it’s where she has established herself. This time though, she brought her betrothal gift to Berk. She and Hiccup made a plan to have dinner with Stoick while they were on Berk. They planned to have it when she finished with the survival training. Hiccup was planning to do his with Stoick once everyone else was back: that way, Astrid could watch over the Riders and the council could watch the village, and Hiccup and Stoick got some bonding time together. Hiccup asked her at the last minute, just before they left for Berk, to grab her betrothal gift to wear for supper. She couldn’t deny Hiccup the request; it was sweet. 

She left the necklace at her parents’ house while she did the training exercise. She didn’t want it to get ruined by accident, not that she hasn’t worn it in battle before, but also Spitelout generally mocks anyone for holding any sort of sentimentality for things that aren’t weapons. Yes, she volunteered to work with Spitelout so no one else would have to, but she didn’t want it to be harder than it needed to be. Astrid felt comfortable in her decision to do this exercise with the Jorgenson patriarch, especially after Snotlout had given her a soft ‘thank you’ after the teams were assigned. Snotlout has been dealing with his own crap and she knows just how badly Spitelout gets under his skin. She likes Snotlout better when he doesn’t have Spitelout’s influence looming over him. 

But maybe she shouldn’t have... Maybe she did… want...

Getting back to Berk wasn’t too exciting beyond Spitelout cursing out Stormfly for how she had the “gall” to treat him so poorly. Astrid was surprised they could hear him over the wind, the man only getting louder the longer they flew, but he screamed himself silly, and for his comments, Stormfly dropped Spitelout on his head when they reached Berk. Astrid managed to smother her laughter, but not her smile. Spitelout was not impressed with her “childish” behavior and threatened not to marry her if she couldn’t get her dragon under control. Astrid had to make a big scene with Stormfly, begging her to calm down around Spitelout. Stormfly doesn’t need to like Spitelout, but she has to accept that Astrid is going to be a Jorgenson. 

Stormfly reluctantly agreed not to openly torment Spitelout like that anymore, but only for Astrid. She made it very clear that she refused to do it because Spitelout was ordering her to. Astrid didn’t tell Spitelout Stormfly’s stipulations, only the Nadder’s promise to be nice, and he was appeased. Although he wasn’t happy for too long because he gave Astrid a timeline to break her engagement with Hiccup and announce her intentions with Spitelout. 

Nightfall. 

Tomorrow. 

Otherwise the deal is off, and he’ll tell Hiccup himself. Then Hiccup will call off the engagement and she’ll have nothing. Astrid agreed and only broke down once Spitelout left her alone. She wishes she had more time to think about how to explain everything to Hiccup, how to break the news to Stoick… how to tell her parents. 

The trip to her parents’ house was quick, she can’t have people seeing her cry in public. Stormfly is behind her, close, but moving quietly. She also follows Astrid into the house. Never has Astrid been so grateful that her dad expanded the doors so her dragon could come inside. Her father doesn’t approve of dragons wholly, but he can see that they have a good impact on Berk and he can tell that Stormfly cares for Astrid, so he allows it. Well, it’s not like he could have stopped Astrid from training with Stormfly or being friends with her, but Astrid loves having his blessing for it. Also… her mother loves her Terror, so her father is a little outnumbered. 

Astrid rushes to her room without stopping to see if anyone else is home, Stormfly’s claws clicking against the wooden floors. In her room, Astrid strips out of her clothes again and shivers as she pours a bowl of water and grabs a rag. 

She dunks the cloth into the freezing water, any heat from her hands immediately leaving her. It’s too hard to clean anything near the middle of her body right away. She wipes the skin on her arms and shoulders first, goosebumps raising over her skin in its wake. Then it’s her legs, starting with her knees and working down. She needs to get yesterday off of her. But she can still feel him touching her, on her arms, on her legs, over her back. There are goosebumps on her skin, her hair is standing on end, but the weight of his touch is there. Her throat is tight as she drags the cloth over her neck, over her chest… stomach… She plunges it into the water again, splashing it over the edges and wringing out the cloth and dunking it once more before washing between her legs. She can’t look down. 

Stormfly croons, snapping Astrid’s attention to her.  _ “Should-have let Stormfly warm water,” _ she says, eyeing the dirty water distastefully. She rinses it once more, then gives between her legs another wipe down. 

Astrid shakes her head, teeth chattering, sniffing. “No, it’s fine. I just need--wanted to get it off my skin. I couldn--didn’t want to wait for the water to warm up.” Astrid tosses the dirty cloth into the corner and pours the dirty water into her chamber pot, then pours some more water into the bowl, grabbing a clean cloth to go with it. She rinses herself off once more, water beading down her skin. 

She’s shaking as she grabs another clean, dry cloth and rubs the water off her skin. It’s not very big, but she doesn’t care. She just wants to forget about it. The coolness of the air is helping a bit. Maybe by later tonight this will all be a bad dream. 

She freezes, cloth covering her stomach. She can’t forget what happened. Her entire life has changed: a couple of days ago she was a Dragon Rider, was considered one of the best warriors in Berk, and betrothed to Hiccup Haddock, the Hope and Heir of Berk . She had a whole life to look forward to, one that she had a choice in creating, one that she worked hard to cultivate… now she’s going to be the second wife of Spitelout Jorgenson. Spitelout may have good standing in the village, but that’s mostly through tradition, riding on the accomplishments of his ancestors. He hasn’t done much worthy of praise recently. Not since Hiccup integrated dragons into Berk. 

She shakes her head and tosses the cloth into the corner with the other one, kicking her dirty clothes with them. She wishes she could tell Stormfly to incinerate them for her, but she can’t. Astrd’s mother works hard to make her clothes and she doesn’t have a lot of options or spares. She grabs a fresh set of clothes and starts pulling them on. She swallows heavily, shaking her head again. No use worrying about what could have been now. This is her life; nothing she can do about it. Her vision goes a little blurry as she pulls her shirt over her head. Spitelout was right; she screwed herself into a corner. 

Her clothes can be dealt with later, despite the fact that even just thinking about touching them again has her stomach in knots. She kicks them further into the corner and turns to the chest at the end of her bed, stepping around Stormfly, who has got really close to her without her noticing. Stormfly hustles out of her way. Astrid doesn’t apologize to her. She can’t stop for a second. If she does, then she won’t get this done tonight. And if she doesn’t do this tonight, then she won’t do it at all. 

She pulls the pendant out by its string and watches it swing back and forth. After a moment she grabs it and stares at it in her hand, unable to look away. Her vision blurs and tears fall from her eyes. How could she mess up so bad? She remembers the day Hiccup gave it to her: how she had been running around all day, unable to find the perfect gift. Yet Hiccup was able to find the perfect gift without even trying. Simple and sweet: the best description of Hiccup. She never deserved someone like HIccup in her life. She should’ve known that this relationship was doomed from the start: she never got him a betrothal gift. Hiccup told her that he didn’t need one, but she should have known better. She should have done it anyway. The gifts are supposed to symbolize their commitment to one another. Maybe her failure to come up with a gift means that she wasn’t committed to Hiccup in the first place. 

She holds the pendant close to her chest and sobs. It’s a beautiful, wonderfully well-thought-out betrothal gift that showcased exactly how much Hiccup was ready to commit to her… and she’s about to throw that commitment back into his face.

She doesn’t want to give it back, but she has to. Her body shakes with her sobbing. Why did she have to screw everything up?

* * *

Walking up to the Haddock Homestead feels like she’s walking to her death. She’s hyper-aware of every step, of every muscle that moves her closer and closer to the Haddock house. The air is cold and she’s shivering.

She has Hiccup’s betrothal gift clenched in one hand, hard enough that her knuckles are white, and Stormfly behind her. Stormfly is making worried noises. The last five minutes she’s been trying to convince Astrid to sleep on this, to collect herself, but Astrid needs to do this now. Stormfly tried to reason that she could find another way, that she has other options, but Astrid doesn’t. She doesn’t have time to explain human customs and expectations to a dragon. This is what she has to do. 

Astrid pauses at the door, all the steam leaving her as she raises her hand to knock. Can she really do this? Can she walk into Hiccup’s house and… explain what happened? Does she even  _ know  _ what happened? Images of her with Spitelout fill her brain, the pleasure that she sometimes felt pulsing like a phantom ache. Bile rises in her throat. She has to do this: she’s betrayed whatever commitment Hiccup has promised her and he deserves to know. 

Astrid takes a deep breath and knocks three times before she loses her nerve. Each impact feels like the toll of a bell, reverberating and echoing through her bones. She takes a step back from the door, trying to swallow past the lump that’s formed in her throat. What can she tell him? What can she even say? Her breaths are getting faster and she has to put effort into slowing them down. She can’t panic now. She doesn’t deserve the luxury of panic, putting herself in this position in the first place. 

Maybe she’ll allow herself to break down later, when she can curl up into her bed and pretend that this is all a bad dream. At least for a few hours. She knows that the morning will be just as bad, if not worse. She’ll have to tell her parents, but she can put that off until tomorrow. Spitelout didn’t give her a deadline to tell them and she’ll put it off as long as she can. It won’t be long, the news will travel fast of the broken engagement, but she wants to pretend. 

The door swings open and Hiccup is standing there. Astrid freezes. Hiccup looks confused, then his eyes light up when he recognizes her. “Astrid!” he says happily. A stone sinks in her gut. “I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.” He opens his arms for a hug, but Astrid stays in place. After a moment, he takes a step forward, but she moves back. His face falls in confusion. “I  _ didn’t _ expect you back so soon… is everything okay?” He drops his arms and his eyes flick to her forehead and go wide. “Where’s your kransen?” 

“I have something to tell you,” Astrid manages to get out, somehow not throwing up at the same time, even though it feels like it. She crosses her arms over her chest, eyes down, and sees the bruises on her own arms and wrists. She quickly drops her arms and tries to hide them behind her back, suddenly very aware that anyone could see her. “Can I come in?” she asks. 

There’s an uncomfortable stretch of silence between them. Astrid isn’t sure if it’s uncomfortable for both of them, but it definitely is for her. She forces herself to look up and sees Hiccup blinking at her in confusion. Then he nods. “O-Okay.” He steps aside and she rushes in before she can change her mind. Like somehow moving faster will make this easier. She makes sure not to touch Hiccup as she goes past him.

“Astrid!” Stoick booms merrily, making her freeze in place. He’s sitting at the table, looking over some papers, an empty chair across from him. Probably where Hiccup was sitting. Toothless is next to the chair, watching her with wide eyes. Her stomach sinks at the sight of the dragon. Stoick is still rifling through some papers, not looking right at her. “It’s good to see you, lass.” 

In the grand scheme of things, it’s probably better that Stoick is here, too, so she doesn’t have to have two separate conversations with both Haddocks. She respects Stoick and loves him like another father; she knows that, as chief, Stoick would be informed, but he deserves to be told in person. It’s also probably easier to be telling him in the privacy of the Haddock Homestead, if she’s being selfish. In reality, it’s a mercy that she doesn’t deserve. 

Before any of them can speak, Stormfly does, head just inside the door,  _ “Stormfly speak with Toothless?” _

Toothless perks up, eyes breaking away from Astrid. He looks confused and worried.  _ “Speak,” _ he nods, sitting up straight. 

_ “Outside,” _ Stormfly amends, tilting her head back. 

Toothless shares a look with Hiccup, who is still standing by the door. Hiccup shrugs then nods, stepping aside. Toothless trots over to Hiccup, nuzzles him, and continues out the door. Hiccup shuts the door behind him. She isn’t sure if the action is to give the dragons privacy or them, but Astrid ends up feeling trapped. She’s stuck between both Haddocks and feels like she’s on display. They won’t hurt her, but it feels like they’ll take one look at her and know. 

That being said, Astrid is terrified to speak. Her mouth opens and closes, her arms over her chest again, but she can’t find the words. There’s nothing she can think of. “Lass, what happened to your arms?” Stoick asks. 

Astrid hides them behind her body, backing toward the wall. “She spars a lot,” Hiccup says. “It’s not a surprise to see her with a couple bruises.”

“Maybe, but those look fresh. And what’s that on your neck?” Stoick asks. 

Astrid covers the side of her neck, a blush rising to her cheeks. She didn’t even think about the marks Spitelout left on her. Suddenly Hiccup is in front of her, holding onto her arms, gently, but she can feel them on the bruises. “Astrid! What happened?” Hiccup asks. “These are… it looks like you got in a fight with someone.” 

Astrid whimpers and tears her arms from his hold, bile rising in the back of her throat. She takes three quick steps back from him. Over Hiccup’s shoulder, she makes eye contact with Stoick, who has a knowing look on his face. Her heart breaks. “T-There was a bad storm on our island,” she says. Might as well start at the beginning. “It interrupted the exercise.” It’s the easiest part to get out, the rest of the words getting caught in her throat. She lifts her hand, still holding the betrothal gift tightly. Her knuckles are whiter than snow. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. It feels like she might cry. 

“Astrid… what’s going on?” Hiccup asks. 

She can feel herself starting to shake. “What happened?” Stoick asks.

It feels easier to respond to her chief than to Hiccup. “I did something awful,” she says, voice tight, tears starting to fall down her face. She wishes that were enough to explain everything. Hiccup is staring at her, naked worry on his face. Astrid takes another step back, bringing the pendant up to her chest. 

“You’re scaring me,” Hiccup says. “What happened?” 

“I’m sorry, Hiccup,” she sobs. She holds out her hand with the pendant. He reaches for her and she drops the necklace into his hand. She pulls her now-empty hand behind her back. It feels like her palm has an imprint of the pendant.

“This is--” 

“I can’t marry you,” she cuts him off.

Hiccup shakes his head and gives her a confused look. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” 

“I can’t marry you,” she repeats, the words harder to get out the second time. 

Hiccup shakes his head more firmly. “No... Astrid, whatever… no. We can get through this.” 

Astrid bites her lip and shakes her head. “We can’t.” 

Tears are welling in Hiccup’s eyes and it breaks her heart to see them. “Is it me?” he asks, voice cracking. Astrid’s mouth falls open in shock. “Astrid, if I did something, please tell me. We can work through it. I don’t--”

“It’s not you,” she cuts him off, wishing she could hug him but she knows that she doesn’t deserve to. 

“What is it? We can work through anything, just talk to me!” 

“Hiccup,” Stoick says. Astrid flinches. Right. Stoick is still here. He’s still sitting in his chair, looking uncomfortable and unsure. “Do you need me to give you some privacy?” he asks gently. 

Astrid shakes her head. “No… there’s something I have to tell you too.” 

“Oh?” It isn’t condescending. He sounds like he doesn’t want to hear what she has to say. Astrid wishes she didn’t have to tell him. 

Astrid swallows and nods, forcing a smile onto her face. This is a happy announcement. She has to look happy when she tells him. “Spitelout has agreed to take me as his second wife.” 

Stoick looks like she just punched him in the chest. The smile is still on her face, even though she can feel it wavering. She doesn’t expect them to be happy about this arrangement, but she isn’t prepared for how devastated they both look. In the silence that follows in the wake of her announcement, there’s an outraged screech that sounds like it came from Toothless. Her smile falters again. Toothless is probably going to hate her too. 

Hiccup is the one to speak first and Astrid forces herself to look him in the eye. He doesn’t deserve any less. “What happened?!” he asks, looking terrified. 

“N-Nothing,” she lies.

“What happened?” Hiccup repeats. “Why are you going to marry Spitelout?” 

“What did he do to you?” Stoick asks. 

“He didn’t do anything,” Astrid says. “It’s what I did.” 

“What did he do to you?” Stoick repeats, voice more firm this time. 

Astrid can feel herself starting to crack. “Please, Astrid,” Hiccup begs. “Tell me what happened. We can… we can work through it…” He’s pleading with her and she doesn’t deserve any form of kindness. 

A sob cracks through her, physically painful. “I’m so sorry, Hiccup,” she cries, wishing that she could hide, but knowing she deserves to be on display. She deserves worse than staring at Hiccup’s broken face. “We were hiding from the storm,” she says, forcing the words out of her mouth, feeling like each is attached to her heart and falls like a stone. “The cave was so small and I… I…” she takes a deep breath. She has to say it. “I seduced Spitelout!” she screams. 

Hiccup jerks back like she slapped him. “What?” 

“Hiccup,” Stoick warns.

“I couldn’t help myself!’ she continues, chest ripping to pieces. “I didn’t--I couldn’t-- the cave was so small and it was so cold…” She’s shivering now. The only times that she’s felt warm has been when Spitelout has been touching her. That has to be good… right?

“Astrid, stop,” Stoick commands. 

Astrid sobs. “I’m so sorry, Hiccup. I’m not fit to be your bride.” 

Hiccup shakes his head. “You’re hurt, Astrid, you’re black and blue! What happened?” 

She crosses her arms over her chest, the bruises ugly on her pale skin, standing out easily. “These… these are… it’s nothing, HIccup. It happens when you…” She can’t bring herself to finish her thought. 

“Astrid, please,” Hiccup yells. “Tell me the truth!” 

Hiccup is too good, too nice, he won’t believe her so easily. She shouldn’t have expected him to. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but she knows that she has to so he can understand. “I,” she clears her throat, “I succumbed to my attraction to him.” 

“Attrac--what the hel?!” Hiccup yells. “You’re attracted to Spitelout?! Since when?!” 

Astrid squeezes her eyes shut and holds herself. “Probably for a long time…” Silence falls again. She can’t look at either of the Haddocks, but she continues. “He’s… he’s strong… and a good warrior… and… and much older.” She hates herself. “It’s better to be with a man who’s established himself.”

“Are you in love with him?”

_ NO! _ her mind screams.  _ No! No!  _ “I gotta be,” she says, voice flat. 

“Get out,” Hiccup orders, voice cold. 

The suddenness of his tone shocks her. “What?” Isn’t this what she wanted? But she hates being on this side of his anger. The ice-cold one is the worst, cutting like a sharp knife. 

“Hiccup,” Stoick tries, gentle.

Hiccup doesn’t pay attention, holding up the betrothal gift and shaking it in front of her. “This belonged to my  _ mother,  _ Astrid,” he says, voice like thunder. 

She looks at it once more, wishing that she could call it her own again. But it’s useless. “I know.” 

“Do you know how much it meant to be to give you part of her memory?” he asks, losing some of his anger. “How much  _ you _ mean to me to give you part of her?” 

Astrid chokes out a sob. “I do.” 

He’s staring at her, breathing through his nose, his face crumbling. “I… I…” He drops the pendant into his palm and presses his fist to his forehead. “I can’t.” His breath shudders and he shakes his head. “Leave,” he pleads softly. 

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, meaning it. Meaning it from the very bottom of her heart and wishing that it could change anything. But it can’t. They’re just words now, nothing in the wake of what she’s done. 

“GET OUT!” Hiccup screams. Then he turns his back on her and walks away. 

“Hiccup...” Stoick says.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats and stumbles out the door. She can hardly see where she’s going through her tears, but she can’t stop. Stoick calls out after her, but she ignores him, running as fast as her legs can carry her. 

She wishes she could disappear, that she could find another place where she wouldn’t be stained with this… but that’s impossible. A childish desire to take back what she did. A childish desire to run away from her responsibility. This  _ thing _ will always hang over her, no matter where she goes. She’s made her bed, but now she must lie in it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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